


The Lost World - Redux

by StopTalkingAtMe



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopTalkingAtMe/pseuds/StopTalkingAtMe
Summary: Robert Muldoon was lucky to survive the incident on Isla Nublar. Four years later, haunted by nightmares, he's drawn back to Costa Rica and to Site B. A reworking of The Lost World, asking what would have happened if Ian Malcolm had died in the first incident on Isla Nublar, and Robert Muldoon had survived, as in the book.





	1. The Sound of the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> What if Ian Malcolm had died in the first incident on Isla Nublar, and Robert Muldoon had survived, as in the books? This is a reworking of the second film, combining elements from both the films and the books to keep things interesting and unexpected. The characters are the film versions, with perhaps some elements from the books included, and Hammond is still alive.
> 
> Rated M for language and for potential sexual content further down the line. (And note that the title may be subject to change. I only tend to figure out a decent title halfway through a story)
> 
> All comments and constructive criticism are hugely appreciated.

**Chapter One**

**The Sound of the Rain**

 

Robert should have known they wouldn't leave him alone for long. One way or the other, they'd figure out some way to drag him back into the whole bloody mess. When he saw Ludlow arrive, he was sitting at the bar in the pub that he'd started to think of as his local, a glass of single malt in his hand. No doubt the first of many.

He liked the pub. Its clientele was a strange mix: hikers, old men of indeterminate age, football fans, and groups of kids dressed up to the nines, stopping in for a quick pint before they moved onto the clubs in Keighley.

You didn't get pubs like this outside of England. In a place like this, the doubts couldn't creep in. Even when it was raining he only had to look around at his surroundings to remind himself that he was safe. If he went outside, it wouldn't be thick tropical jungle that met him, but narrow twisting streets and houses built of pale Yorkshire stone. Dry stone walls bordering muddy fields filled with soggy miserable-looking sheep...

Nothing to hunt him here.

No fucking dinosaurs.

Just Peter sodding Ludlow. Looking out of place in his expensive trench coat, and shaking the rain from his umbrella. He was thin and balding, with wire-rimmed spectacles that made him look prissy and ineffectual. But Robert, who was already aware of Ludlow's reputation, knew better. Prissy he might be, but he could also be vicious, and his eyes were already scanning the pub. He glanced at the group of football supporters with a moue of distaste, and then his gaze moved on, finally coming to rest on Robert.

He groaned inwardly. Foolish to think that screening his calls and throwing the letters away unread would be enough to get this bastard off his back. And Hammond had warned him, hadn't he?

_Should have listened, Rob. Should have sent the message loud and clear: leave me the fuck alone._

Well, he'd get his chance now, because Peter Ludlow was weaving through the tables towards him.

“You're a hard man to find, Mr Muldoon,” he said, perching on the edge of a bar stool with the air of a man who'd never perched on a bar stool in his life and wasn't all that happy about doing so now.

“I try.”

Across the bar, the football supporters burst into a sudden roar. Ludlow winced and glanced around with a startled expression. _Good God,_ Robert thought, eyeing him with distaste. _You'd think the man had never been in a pub in his bloody life._

Ludlow beckoned Sean, the landlord, over with an imperious twitch of his fingers that set Robert's teeth on edge.

A twitch of Sean's eyebrows sent the message, 'friend of yours?' at Robert? And Robert gave a slight grimace and a shake of his head in reply. As Sean waited with barely concealed contempt, Ludlow ordered a glass of white wine, and then turned to Robert, eyebrows raised.

“And for you, Mr Muldoon?” His gaze darted to the whisky. “Another?”

Wordlessly, Robert tilted the glass in Sean's direction. The landlord turned away, poured their drinks. Ludlow paid, plucked his wineglass from the bar and gave it a suspicious, surreptitious sniff. He held it by the stem as if he was holding a rose. The football supporters began to roar again, the noise stuttering off when the striker fumbled the ball. Over the mutterings, one of them snapped, “You stupid fucker.”

Ludlow flinched. Robert sipped his whisky, hiding a smile.

“Do you think,” Ludlow said, picking his words, “that we could go somewhere a little quieter?”

“Here's quiet enough for me,” Robert said, then he followed Ludlow's meaningful glance at the barman and he sighed. “Fine.”

They moved through an archway to the quieter back room, heated by a real fire crackling in a stone fireplace. Robert paused to scratch behind the ears of the elderly black Labrador on the faded rug in front of the fire. It fixed him with mournful warm brown eyes and then huffed a heartfelt sigh, resting its chin back on its paws. Ludlow shrugged off the trench coat, and draped it over the back of a chair. As he slid along  the banquette seating, Robert sat opposite him.

“You understand, of course,” Ludlow said, “that this conversation remains confidential. As far as InGen is concerned, the non-disclosure agreement you signed remains in place.”

Robert grunted. “How exactly did you find me?”

Ludlow smiled. Behind the glasses of his spectacles, his blue eyes were cold, almost reptilian. Robert felt a memory rise up in his mind, a memory of being hunted. It was a disconcerting feeling. This prim scrawny man was no threat at all to him, and yet still Robert felt a shiver of fear creeping down his spine. “I spoke to one of your neighbours. He mentioned you come here sometimes.” He plucked the menu from the table and pretended to study it, his lip curling in distaste. “He said you come here a lot, actually.”

“Well, they do excellent whisky,” Robert said.

“Hmm.” Another twitch of Ludlow's lips. He glanced around, eyeing the collection of horse brasses hanging above the fireplace. “Have you heard from my uncle?”

“Not since the funeral,” Robert said. “He called to pay his respects. The usual, you know.”

A slight tightening of Ludlow's lips. “Yes,” he said, sipping his wine. “Your father, wasn't it? I'm sorry for your loss.”

Robert inclined his head, thinking, _you lying piece of shit._

“And he didn't mention... anything about Costa Rica? About InGen?”

Robert sipped his whisky, considered, then gave a shake of his head. “The topic didn't come up,” he lied. “The call was brief. Bad connection. How is John Hammond these days?”

“I'm afraid his health is failing.” Ludlow shrugged. There was no change in his expression, and Robert clenched his jaw. Not that he owed John Hammond much – the bastard had almost got him killed after all – but, damn it, he still liked the man. He deserved better from his family than this grasping greedy little shit.

And Ludlow was already changing the subject as if his uncle was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “I'd have thought you'd have gone back to Africa.”

“I fancied being somewhere cold for a change.”

Ludlow grunted, glanced at the window, at the glass streaked with rain. “Well, you came to the right place. Personally whenever I come back to England I can't wait to get back to the US.”

_Well, fuck off back there then_. “The answer is no.”

“I haven't even asked you a question, Mr Muldoon.”

“Whatever the hell the question is. The answer is no.”

Those cold eyes lingered on him. Robert wondered if he'd like Ludlow more if the bastard didn't remind him so much of a reptile. It was Ludlow's eyes that disturbed him, devoid of the warmth and twinkle in his uncle's. Although the two man actually had a lot in common. Grandfatherly Hammond may have been, but despite his act of kindly benevolence he had a deep and abiding love of money and power. And still, Robert liked him. Trusted him, despite his misgivings.

“Perhaps,” Ludlow said, “if you'd just let me--”

“ _No_.”

“Mr Muldoon, I've come a long way to speak with you in person.”

“Well.” Robert lifted his glass. “Then I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey.”

Ludlow's lips tightened. He stared at his wine, swirled it in the glass for a few moments, before he gave a final nod. “Are you certain my uncle hasn't contacted you?”

“I told you--”

“Other than to pay his condolences, I mean.”

Robert didn't answer. Ludlow lifted his head and stared hard at him. And Robert felt another prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He felt the heat of the fire against his skin, and for a moment he was back there. Crouched in the jungle with the SPAS-12 shotgun in his arms, his gaze fixed on the creature – the fucking _monster_ – half-concealed in the undergrowth. Knowing she would rip his guts out if she got the chance. Knowing she'd probably enjoy it.

_Christ_ , he thought. _The raptors are dead. They're all dead, you bloody fool._

But if they were dead, then what the hell was Peter Ludlow doing here? What on Earth could he want? If the animals on Isla Nublar were all dead, then why--

_It doesn't matter what he wants._

“If you change your mind,” Ludlow said, “you know how to get in touch. Even if it's just to talk things over, you'll be well compensated, I can assure you.”

Robert gave him a thin smile. “I have no interest in working for InGen again, Mr Ludlow.”

Another long silence, and then Ludlow gave a sharp little nod and adjusted his French cuffs. “I understand, of course, and I appreciate you giving your time, Mr Muldoon. And of course for your continuing discretion.” He seemed to be about to say something more, then he gave a shake of his head. His sly little smile turned Robert's dislike of the man into active loathing. “Between you and me, I'm not altogether sure that I blame you.”

“'Blame me'?”

But Ludlow was already on his feet, leaving the glass of wine half drunk. He reached for his coat, and pulled it on. “Good night, Mr Muldoon. The Labrador lifted its head with a whine as Ludlow moved past and out through the arch. Robert stared after him, eyes narrowed.

_He doesn't blame me? What the fuck did he mean by that?_

Then he gave himself a shake. It hardly mattered, did it? He'd finished with all that. He'd been considering retirement for a while, even before his father's death had drawn him back to England and away from his post at the tiger sanctuary in India. He'd liked the position, but he was getting too old for it really, and he couldn't stand the monsoon season. He'd managed to stick it out for two years before he realised just how much the sound of the rain drumming on the roof was getting to him. His fear, measured in units of bottles of whisky.

It was the rain and the heat, the smell of the sweat on his skin which never quite evaporated because of the humidity. It wasn't Costa Rica, but when he was tired and drunk and the rain was beating out its rhythmic tattoo on the ceiling, he began to imagine otherwise...

Yes, Yorkshire was cold. As far as Robert was concerned, that was one of its selling points. No mistaking Yorkshire for Costa Rica. Even when it was raining.

 

###

 

He was drunk by the time he said his goodbyes to Sean and made his way out of the pub and down the narrow street. Past the church, with its display of Remembrance Day poppy wreaths, and along the winding alley that ran alongside the beck. He could see the park beyong, the darkness between the trees. Somewhere a fox screamed, and Robert went still as he felt an itch on the back of his neck. The sensation of being watched, of being hunted. Then he gave himself a shake. He was being a fool. He hadn't intended to get so drunk tonight.

And his bloody leg was aching again.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and dropped his head back, feeling the rain on his face. The raindrops needled at his chapped skin as he crossed over the stone bridge. He paused halfway and leaned on the side, staring down at the water. The water in the beck was high, churning over the stones in a torrent.

_I'm home,_ he thought, and wondered why he didn't believe it for a minute. He knew the answer. He hadn't thought of England as home for a long time. Strange to be in a country where the largest predators were badgers. Where he didn't have to worry about any of the wildlife trying to kill him.

_John's right_ , he thought. _And Ludlow too._

Damn them both.

He wasn't going to be able to stick it out here. Not with his leg aching the way it did every time it rained. Wouldn't be long before he was bored out of his skull. He'd drink himself to death. Or worse: end up just like his father, bitter and miserable, mourning his empty life. Wishing he'd done _more_...

The process had already begun.

Twenty years down the line he'd be sitting in the pub, muttering about how he used to work with dinosaurs. How he'd wrangled a T-rex once. The tolerant weary faces of the regulars, exchanging looks over his head when they thought he couldn't see. And then returning to the empty house. The faint musty smell of damp and the grubby kitchen and no one waiting for him...

Christ, he did need to stop drinking so bloody much. He was turning into a miserable fucker. Getting melancholy.

He reached the small terraced house that had belonged to his father and now belonged to him. Noted grimly how his hand shook as he tried to insert the key into the lock. He concentrated, until the shakes were only the slightest tremor, and tried again. As always, the door stuck thanks to the rain and he forced it open with his shoulder. He stepped over the letters on the mat, and slammed the door shut behind him, stood for a moment in the quiet hall. The smell of his father's aftershave lingered on the air, as if it had sunk into the wallpaper along with the smoke of countless cigarettes.

The message light was flashing on the phone and he paused, staring down at it with narrowed eyes. _Probably Ludlow_ , he thought. But he was pretty sure he didn't want to hear whatever message the bastard had left for him.

He shrugged off his jacket and moved into the kitchen at the back, telling himself he was going to find something to eat. Instead, he poured himself a glass of whisky from the bottle on the counter. He went into the living room, and sank down on the mouldering sofa, stared out at the darkness of the garden. At the rain streaking the windows.

 

###

 

_Something's hunting him. In the darkness, the leaf litter of the jungle is soft beneath his boots. Somewhere behind him, a man screams, the sound ragged and filled with pain. Robert knows somehow that it's Jophery Brown, the worker they lost to the raptors. Jophery Brown who he couldn't save._

_Robert tries to turn around, because the man has two children and another on the way, and he can't let Jophery die again. He's fixed to the spot. No matter how fights, he cannot move, and all the time Jophery is screaming, howling like an animal in agony. He no longer sounds human._

_And then ahead of Robert, the bushes rustle. The rain pounds down around him, so heavy it runs into his eyes, blinding him. He shakes his head, blinking to clear his vision, and sees the cold glint of a reptilian eye through the leaves. It's her. He knows it's her: she's finally come for him. The rotting musky stink of her fills his lungs, and nausea rises up in his gut. The gun in his hands feels too heavy, and his movements are slow, the air seeming to thicken like molasses. He knows his movements are too slow, that he's utterly fucked, even as he raises the gun and takes aim._

_And in a blur of movement and claws and teeth, something speeds out of the undergrowth towards him and he knows he's going to die--_

He jerked awake, screaming. The empty glass tumbled from his lap, and came to a rest against the TV stand. He sat frozen and gasping, staring at the hollow eyes of his reflection in the rain-streaked window.

“Christ!” He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his hands over his face, until his heart slowed to a more natural pace. His leg ached, sending stabbing pains shooting up towards his groin.

Just a fucking dream.

And still the rain continued to drum against the window, echoing the sound in his dream. Making him think for a moment... Making him feel he was somewhere else.

He dropped his hands from his face, and pushed himself up, grunting for a moment as his leg protested. He moved towards the French doors, and reached for the lock. For a moment it seemed as if something moved on the other side of the glass. Something large and deadly, with intelligent eyes focused on him and him alone. Robert exhaled, and deliberately unlocked the door, gripped the handle and hauled it open. Immediately the cold air struck him with a forcible blow.

The motion light flicked on, illuminating the garden with a corona of light,

Nothing was out there waiting for him. Nothing but the sodden lawn littered with rotting leaves. The shadows that danced at the outskirts, concealing God knows what from his view. He his forehead against the glass.

_Losing my fucking mind._

With no further movement, the light flicked off.

It was Ludlow's fault. That bastard. Showing up here, invading his life. Refusing to leave him alone even when he'd made it clear he wasn't interested. They'd almost killed him, for fuck's sake, with their greed and arrogance. Even Hammond, who'd been so caught up in triumph and magical fucking wonder that he refused to listen to reason.

Hammond... He chewed on his lip, glancing towards the hall. Then he cast one last look at the garden, and pulled the French doors shut. Locked them again, ignoring the twinge of foolishness he felt at how it made him feel a little better. A little safer.

As if a fragile plate of double-glazing could protect him from a Velociraptor if one happened to be lurking in his garden.

He didn't bother to check the time, just moved out into the hall and picked up the phone, waited as it rang. He wasn't even thinking now; he just felt tired and numb and hollow. And just as he was starting to think about hanging up and getting another glass of whisky, someone picked up.

“This is John Hammond.”

He was too damn drunk. Hadn't even thought about what he was going to say. Not that it would have mattered; he suspected the words would have caught in his throat in any case, no matter how carefully he'd planned them. He hadn't been prepared for how tired Hammond sounded, how _old_.

“John,” he said, leaning against the wall. “It's me.”

About all he could manage. The dream – the nightmare – had shaken him. Well, that and all the whisky.

There was a long moment of silence on the end of the line, as if John Hammond was trying to figure out who he was. Then: “Robert?” His soft Scottish tone was filled with a note of genuine delight, but it wasn't enough to mask how hoarse his voice was. “My God, my boy, it's wonderful to hear from you. How are things there in England?”

“Wet.”

“Ah, raining is it?”

“Just a bit.”

“And how did the funeral go? Did you get the wreath I sent?”

“John.” An edge in his voice. Hammond fell silent, and Robert's hand tightened around the handset. “You were right. Peter Ludlow came to see me.”

“Ah. I thought he might.”

He closed his eyes, listened to the wind howling outside. It sounded like a wolf, but oddly it calmed him a little. At least it didn't sound like a fucking dinosaur.

“I'm sorry, Robert. I'd thought if you ignored him, made it clear you weren't interested, he might leave you alone.”

“Well, he didn't, did he?” he snapped. “What the hell does he want?”

Hammond sighed. When he spoke again, all the false cheer and joviality had gone from his tone. He sounded tired, almost as tired as Robert. “He wants InGen, Robert. He wants to take it out from under me.”

“Can he do that?”

“If he can get the support of the shareholders, then, yes, I'm afraid he can. And then...” Hammond paused. “What exactly did you tell him, Robert?”

“What do you bloody think I told him? I told him _no_. What the hell is he doing, John? And what does he want with me? The park's finished. The animals are all dead.” And he hated himself for the pleading note that had entered his voice with those last words. He bit the inside of his cheek, tried not to think about a reptilian shape moving through the jungle. He waited for Hammond to reassure him, to fuss and fret over the exhaustion in his voice.

But it didn't come. There was no sound from Hammond except a long slow exhalation.

An icy sensation crept over his skin. “Tell me the animals are all dead, John.”

“Robert...” And then Hammond trailed off again. Robert found himself staring at his reflection in the foxed mirror hanging on the wall across from him. When Hammond spoke again, his voice had regained that false brittle tone. “You sound tired, my boy. Have you been sleeping?”

_Now he's fussing_. Robert clenched his jaw. “Answer the question, John. Why does Ludlow want me?”

“I can't, Robert. Not over the phone. But if you come to New York--”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm not coming to America.”

“Now, look, I know you don't want to leave England, but what Peter's doing... He's like a terrier, that boy. Always was. Once he's got an idea in his head, he's never going to let it go. And he's not going to let this go, I know that. You'll be seeing him again, you mark my words.” Hammond paused. “I need your help, Robert. Come to New York, and I'll give you the answers you're looking for, I promise you that.”

He was going to say no. To hang up the phone and pull out the lead and be done with the whole fucking lot of them, but in the howling wind outside he heard Jophery Brown screaming. Heard the tropical rain drumming on the roof of a maintenance shed.

His grip tightened around the handset. John Hammond didn't have any answers to give him, he was pretty sure of that. Not answers he wanted to hear at any rate.

_I'm fifty-one_ , he thought. _I'm too bloody old for this._

“I'll come,” he said. “To New York.” And then, over the sound of the old man's delight, “But nothing else, John. I'm promising nothing.”

And John Hammond, like always, heard only what he wanted to hear. “Of course, of course. It'll be a delight to see you if nothing else, dear boy. You know I spoke to Ellie Sattler the other day, you remember Ellie, don't you? Lovely girl, and a fine palaeobotanist in her own right these days. Did you hear she's expecting her first child? Such a shame it didn't work out between her and Dr Grant.”

_Jesus. What the hell am I doing?_

Too exhausted to cut in, he listened to John Hammond prattling on, waiting for his chance to interrupt and disengage from the conversation. Saw again in his mind the dark shape slipping through the jungle, all speed and teeth and claws.

He knew it was hunting.


	2. Broken Men

**Chapter Two**  
Broken Men  


 

Christ, Robert needed a drink.

His throat was raspy and dry, the result of dehydration from the plane journey, and a headache pounded against his skull. The opulence of his surroundings didn't help; he was still prickling at the way Hammond's butler had eyed him on his way in. His boots echoed on the marble floor in the hallway, as he glanced around, studying the décor. It reminded him of Ludlow, cold and impersonal. Everything impeccable, but with no life or love to it.

The flight itself hadn't been so bad. Hammond had swung for first class, so the journey had been luxurious, and the predominantly female air stewards congenial and easy on the eye. He'd even had the chance to catch up on his sleep, although he hadn't been able to grab much more than an hour or so. The threat of nightmares still lurked at the edge of his consciousness. The last thing he wanted was to wake up screaming in the middle of the flight and scare the shit out of everyone.

Worse was the city. He hated cities, and it was his first time in New York. He'd be happy if he never saw it again. He hated the noise of the traffic, the screaming sound of horns blaring. He didn't know how people could stand it without losing their bloody minds. They would have moved faster if they just got out and walked.

So he was already feeling on edge and his yearning for a drink was starting to take on a real edge. _Hammond's fault_ , he thought. Everything that had happened to him could be traced back to John Hammond. And here he was letting it happen again. Letting himself get sucked back into the whole bloody mess.

 _Well, no more_ , he thought as the butler ushered him into John Hammond's study. He'd get his answers and then he was done. He'd make himself clear; if Peter Ludlow showed his face again, he'd break his bloody nose–

And then he saw Hammond and he froze.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the man.

Hammond had always been small, but his upright sprightly bearing combined with his bright eyes had given him a youthful quality that suggested he'd live forever. Five years ago Robert might have wryly guessed that Hammond would outlive the lot of them, but now the man in front of him was not small, but shrunken. He was no longer dressed in spotless white, the prerogative of the wealthy who didn't have to do their own laundry, but casual clothes. A soft dove-grey cashmere jumper over khaki-coloured slacks with an elasticised waistband. And while his hair was perfectly groomed and his nails immaculate, his eyes were rheumy, filled with weariness and sorrow.

This room was rather more of a reflection of Hammond than Robert had so far seen of the building so far. A collection of fossils was displayed in a glass cabinet behind the desk, and spreading ferns stood in the corners of the room. The sight of them sent a shiver of unease down Robert's spine, memories of the jungle edging back. Medical equipment stood behind Hammond's chair, tended to by a silent dark-haired nurse.

“Robert, my boy! Come in, come in.” John's eyes had lit up, and Robert felt his heart sink. He'd steeled himself for this encounter, reminding himself of how close he had come to death. And Robert had been one of the lucky ones. Gennaro, Ian Malcolm – many hadn't been so lucky. And it was all this man's fault, with his arrogance, his greed. His insistence on non-lethal methods of containment, all because he wanted to protect his precious animals... Because of him, too many people had died. All through the flight, and the tortuous creeping journey through New York, Robert had been nurturing his resentment, letting it tighten into a hard bitter ball of rage.

But at the sight of the brief flash of genuine pleasure in John Hammond's eyes all Robert's anger drained away, replaced with exhaustion and pity. It was almost impossible to sustain his rage in the face of one weak, lonely old man.

 _Almost_.

“It's so good to see you, my boy. Sit down, please, please. Can I offer you a drink?” He turned to the table, and Robert's mouth went dry at the sight of the bottle of whisky. The liquid inside was a deep amber, and a rising wave of thirst rose up inside him. He ran his tongue round his mouth, just about managing to tear his gaze away from the bottle. Christ, he needed a drink.

“No.” His voice was a little too sharp and he softened it. “Thank you.” He sat down opposite Hammond, felt the eyes of the nurse on him.

Hammond was turning towards him, the bottle already uncapped, eyebrows raised in surprise. Robert could almost taste the alcohol on his tongue already. “Are you sure I can't tempt you, Robert?” he asked as he poured himself a couple of fingers of Scotch. The other tumbler waited, virginal. Empty. “It's sixty year old Scotch. A beautiful little distillery in the Western Highlands. And quite the finest whisky I've ever tasted. The best money can buy.”

_Oh God._

“Get to the damn point,” he said, rougher than he'd intended. He ran his tongue around his parched mouth, tried not to stare hard at the glass of whisky in John's hand. If he was going to do this, then he couldn't do it drunk. Tempting though that option was, he had to keep a clear head. He had to be able to think. He had to remember he couldn't trust Hammond. “Tell me why I'm here.”

There was a flash of pain in John Hammond's eyes. A faint dimming of the light. And Robert felt a stab of guilt.

_For God's sake, you don't owe the man anything._

“I'm sorry, John.” His gaze flicked to the bottle of whisky, and he saw Hammond register the glance. Before the old man could offer him a drink again he jumped in. “Long journey.

“Of course, my boy, I'm sorry. Well, in that case, I'll get right to the point.” And he hesitated. “You asked me on the phone what my nephew could want, whether the animals were all dead.”

 _No. Oh God, no._ “John...”

“...And the answer to those questions lies on Site B.” A triumphant gleam in John Hammond's eyes. It was the expression of a mischievous boy who thought he'd got away with something. And Robert found his fury returning in full force. His hands clenched into fists.

“Site B? John, what the hell is Site B?” His kept his voice controlled, but his anger would have been clear to anyone who was actually listening. John didn't hear it, but the nurse did. She lifted her head, and stared at him.

“Isla Sorna,” John Hammond said. “That was our site B. We kept it entirely separate from the main running of the park. We bred the animals there, nurtured them for a few months, then brought them over to the main park. The system worked perfectly.”

“'Perfectly'?” Robert sank back in his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your definition of 'perfect' is quite a bit different from mine. Why didn't I know about this?”

“Very few people did know. Your job was the park and the care of the animals once they'd been released into the park. No more.”

 _You bastard,_ Robert thought. _You utter, utter bastard._ He felt a momentary hesitation at the presence of the nurse, but keeping the park secret wasn't his problem any more.

He just wished she'd stop looking at him.

She was Hispanic, dark eyed and beautiful, her expressionless face somehow managing to convey contempt. He wondered how much she knew, whether she thought Hammond was borderline senile and Robert humouring him. He wondered whether she even cared.

He took a breath, and fixed his gaze on Hammond. “Are there raptors on this island?” The flicker of guilt in Hammond's eyes told him the answer.

“Are you sure I can't offer you a drink, Robert? This whisky really is excellent–”

“How many?” he asked, his voice flat.

Hammond paused, bringing the glass of whisky to his lips. “We're not certain,” he said, his voice light, “but from the satellite images it looks like two nesting groups, which is astonishing because–”

“Two nesting groups. Jesus, how many raptors is that?”

“We think about forty or so. Not counting the juveniles.”

Forty raptors. The thought made him dizzy. “With no fences, no cages to keep them contained?”

John nodded, still smiling that bright brittle smile. “No fences at all. All the animals on the island are quite wild and free to roam, although–”

Robert leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then you should napalm the whole fucking island.”

John flinched. “You don't mean that.”

“I bloody well do.”

“Robert, my boy, let's not overreact–”

 _I'm not your sodding boy._ “Forty raptors, John. Forty. Did you forget what happened at the park? What they did? And that was just _three_ of the bastarding things.”

John sighed. The sadness in his eyes was back. “I'm well aware of how you feel about raptors, but it's important not to overreact. This island represents an extraordinary opportunity to study these animals in their natural environment. It's true the raptors present a challenge...” He held up his hand to forestall Robert's attempt to interrupt. Robert sank back in his chair, glowering. “...But from the satellite images it's clear they're fiercely territorial, and confine themselves to the central part of the island. The outer edges are perfectly safe.”

He needed that drink. Now more than ever. John caught the glance he shot at the bottle, and raised his eyebrows. “Would you like that drink now?” he said, and, goddamn him, the twinkle was back.

Robert gave a single nod of his head, and John chuckled, poured him a generous shot and passed the glass over. Robert brought it to his mouth, inhaled the scent of peat, his mouth flooding with saliva. He didn't drink: not yet. “How are they even still alive?” he demanded. “What about the lysine contingency? Clearly that was a sodding waste of time.”

John jabbed a finger at him. “An excellent question, and one of the many questions I want the team to investigate.” He sighed, his eyes misting over. “It seems Ian Malcolm was right after all. Life finds a way.”

“Not for Ian Malcolm it didn't,” Robert said sourly. An image of Malcolm's twisted body flashed through his mind. One of many things he'd never forget, along with the way Donald Genarro's leg had felt when he'd stepped on it.

To chase the memories away he brought the whisky to his lips, fought the urge to swallow the whole lot down in one gulp. A single sip, and the flavour filled his mouth, peat and smoke and the lingering trace of the oak barrels. John had been right; it was the best whisky he'd ever tasted. His eyes fluttered closed, but the memories remained. He'd need to drink a hell of a lot more than this to forget.

His eyes snapped open and he turned a baleful glare on John. “Remind me, John. How many kids did Dr Malcolm have? Was it three or four?”

A shadow of pain crept across the old man's face. “I believe,” John Hammond said, “it was five.” That darkness filled his eyes, a shadow of loss and loneliness. It was the look of an old man who'd been deserted by the people he should have been able to rely on. It made Robert think of his own father.

Robert groaned, already regretting his cruelty. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have said that.” Although he wondered if that was true. He suspected the pain in Hammond's eyes was caused less by regret for the people who'd died, and more for the loss of the park. For the slipping of his control.

Better that he not be allowed to forget what had happened. What could happen when things went wrong.

John waved the apology away. “Not at all,” he said, still pale. “You're quite right. I should have listened to Malcolm. I should have listened to you. Because you were right about the raptors, Robert. All along. And the weaponry. The rifles, they weren't enough, I know that now.” And as he spoke his colour returned, his voice losing its strained quality.

 _This man,_ Robert thought in disbelief. _He's like a bloody weeble._

“We won't be making those mistakes again, I can assure you of that. When we send the team in–”

“John.” He raised his voice. Hammond broke off, glancing at him. “What team? What are you talking about? Is this what Peter Ludlow is planning?”

“Ah. No, not exactly.” John picked up the bottle of whisky, and tilted it at him. He blinked at his glass, about to protest he had plenty left then saw with a flush of shame that it was empty. He'd drunk it all, that rich, precious spirit, the finest whisky he'd ever drunk and would ever be likely to drink. He'd drunk it and he hadn't even noticed. Numbly, he held out the glass. “I'm planning my own expedition onto the island.”

“The island that's full of raptors.”

“It's hardly _full_ of raptors. That's a dreadful exaggeration...”

“I do beg your pardon. I forgot they'd have to leave room for the t-rex. I assume there is a t-rex?”

John hesitated. “I believe there's two tyrannosaurs. A breeding pair, in fact. They have a nest.”

“How delightful.” He sipped the whisky. “Breeding tyrannosaurs. God help us all. Anything else on the island I should know about? Dilophosaurs? Godzilla? King fucking Kong?”

“Robert.” John shot him a reproachful look, and he felt an inexplicable flush of guilt. As Robert grunted an apology, John continued. “As I said, I'm planning a small expedition. Just a handful of people, real experts in their fields. You know yourself, Robert, the lower the impact the better the results. The best equipment money can buy, and they'll be armed to the teeth. And they'll stay to the outer rim, so they'll be totally safe.”

Robert gave him a hard stare, but John's smile didn't waver. _He believes it_ , he thought. _The crazy bastard really believes it._

“I've been fighting for four years to keep these animals isolated and safe.” John leaned forward, his voice raspy with urgency. “I'm the one who created them, and, by God, I'll take responsibility for protecting them.”

“Then leave them alone.”

Hammond shook his head, his eyes filling with pain. “I can't.”

And Robert was beginning to see. “Because of Ludlow,” he said.

Hammond nodded. “The... incident on Isla Nublar was expensive. The lawsuits–”

“And all that hush money?”

Another flinch from John. “It wasn't my decision to keep what happened in the park secret,” he said. “If I'd had the choice–”

Robert waved his objections away. “What is Ludlow planning, John?”

“It's like I told you on the phone,” he said. “He wants to take InGen from me. I created this company. Built it from the ground up. And he wants to take it from me. While I have been trying to protect these animals, he wants to use them.” Hammond turned and pulled a file from the desk, passed it across to him. Robert hesitated a moment, then he set his whisky glass on the desk and took the file. He flicked through it, and an architectural drawing of an amphitheatre slipped into his hand.

“He wants to resurrect Jurassic Park?” Robert frowned.

John sighed. “If only that were true, Robert. I'm afraid it's much worse than that.” He pointed to the image of the amphitheatre in Robert's hand. “What you see there represents part of my original plan for the park. Something which I soon came to realise was fundamentally flawed. I abandoned it for the island in Costa Rica–”

“Islands,” Robert corrected. He flicked through the other papers in the file, more architectural plans, a map of a park, with some superficial similarities to the complex on Isla Nublar, but designed for a different location, and on a much smaller, less expansive scale. A series of cages for the housing of animals. One, the dimensions of which, clearly showed it was designed to contain something massive.

 _A tyrannosaur paddock_ , he thought. Cold sensation creeping over his skin. _That's designed for a fucking tyrannosaur._

“–But not before we had begun construction on the waterfront complex,” John finished.

Robert's stomach clenched. He was starting to get a bad feeling. “Where the hell is this, John?”

“San Diego.”

“ _San Diego_?” He stared at John Hammond, his eyes wide. “On the mainland? That's insane.”

“Of course it is. Which is why I abandoned the idea in favour of Isla Nublar. You're a zoo man, Robert. You know how often animals escape. Human error, malfunctioning technology.” He stabbed his finger. “Things. Go. Wrong. The park proved that. And at least on the island we were able to contain the losses. Could you imagine, Robert, a tyrannosaur running loose through San Diego? Or a pack of raptors?”

He shuddered. “Even Peter Ludlow wouldn't be stupid enough to take raptors off the island.”

“You know, I would have thought so myself,” John said, nodding in agreement. “But sometimes I wonder. People like to be scared. They like to feel they're in danger, even if it's illusionary–”

“If he takes raptors off the island the danger won't be illusionary.”

“Exactly.” John stabbed a triumphant finger at him. “Which is why he must be stopped. And the best way to do that is to gather public support for the animals, to document them in their natural habitat. To create a Lost World where they will be safe, where they can be studied. A living fossil.”

 _This is why Ludlow wanted me_ , he thought, staring down at the file. _Christ, he can't seriously have thought I'd be stupid enough to–_

He looked up. John was staring at him, and a sick sensation squeezed his gut. “I'm not going.”

“Robert.” John gave him another reproachful look. “I wasn't going to ask you to.”

 _Yes, you bloody well were_. “Who's your team?”

“Ah.” John nodded, held up a finger, scrabbled around in the papers on his desk. “Yes, here we are. It took some persuading, of course, and I'm still not sure they all quite believe what they're going to see, but they'll soon change their minds once they get there. Let's see... There's Nick van Owen, he's a photographer and video documentarian. Eddie Carr, our field equipment specialist. Our palaeontologist is Dr Richard Levine. He's quite a character, obsessed with the notion of finding a Lost World and studying the animals in their own habitat. And then we have our animal expert, Dr Sarah Harding...”

“Sarah Harding?” He knew the name. Their paths had crossed a decade or so ago while he'd been working in Africa. He remembered a pale-skinned redhead, young when he'd met her but able to hold her own. A hell of a lot tougher than she looked.

“You know her?”

He nodded. “She's good.”

“I did tell you. The best in their fields. She's been working with hyenas out in Africa, published some fascinating papers about nurturing behaviour in carnivores. I'm telling you, she can't wait to get out there.” John chuckled, then fell silent. “But I'll be honest, Robert, I was hoping you would agree to go as well.”

 _Of course you were_. “John–”

“I know, I know. You've made yourself clear. I won't ask you to go to the island. But we do need you, even if it's only on a consultancy basis. No one alive knows these animals better than you. Why do you think my nephew wouldn't leave you alone? A few months work, Robert, doing what you do best. That's all I ask. And you know what the alternative is. What do you think will happen if my nephew can't find a way to use the animals on that island? He'll have them destroyed.”

He stared down at the file resting on his lap. Imagining the danger forty raptors could pose. Thinking about amber eyes in the jungle. The musky predator stink, the prickling of hairs on the back of his neck. “Maybe they should be destroyed,” he said quietly.

“Robert, my boy, I know you don't mean that.” John Hammond's voice was soft now, gentle.

 _I do,_ he thought. _I do._

He remembered when they'd first introduced the raptors into their new cage. Watching them leaping up at the fences, at first he'd assumed the the attacks were random. Only then he'd begun to notice a pattern to their leaps, how they never seemed to hit the same spot twice. And even when the cage was quiet, he could sense them watching him, could feel intelligent eyes fixed on him, filled with malice.

Creating raptors had been one of the worst mistakes Hammond had made, and, yes, he believed it would be better to have them all destroyed. But it was the thought of the other animals that made him hesitate. He had made conservation his life. He'd kill when necessary, but the needless butchery of animals went against the grain. Watching fire-bursts blossom all over the island from the safety of the helicopter. The panicked hypsilophodonts springing away from the flames in vain as the island burned.

Something else he'd never forget. It had left a hollow ball of pain and guilt in his chest. And John Hammond knew that. The bloody buggering bastard.

 _Consultancy work,_ he thought, picking up the image of the amphitheatre with a trembling hand. _That's all this has to be._

John Hammond pushed another sodding glass of whisky into his hand. He took it without even thinking, and knocked it back in one. Too fast to even taste it. Wasteful, but its warmth was welcome in his stomach, as was the lassitude spreading through his body. “When are they planning to go?” he asked, and his voice sounded toneless, empty of life.

John Hammond smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I think you may be able to tell, this is going to be a bastardised cross between the films and the books. Scary though the raptors in the first film were, they... didn't really kill all that many people. Far more people died in the book, so when I refer back to the incident on Isla Nublar, I'm imagining something much closer to the book, with far more bodies and bloodshed.
> 
> All comments are hugely appreciated. Also, while I have a general idea of where this is going, I'd writing it as I go along, which is a rare experience for me, and actually sort of terrifying, so if there's anything you'd particularly like to see, let me know in the comments.


	3. Preparations

**Chapter Three**

**Preparations**

 

John Hammond had called Richard Levine a bit of a character, but total arsehole was closer to the truth. He was a palaeontologist at Berkeley, dark-haired and lanky, with a pedantic fussy manner that set Robert's teeth on edge. It didn't help that Levine reminded him of Peter Ludlow; they had the same air of privilege that came with inherited wealth.

The first time they were supposed to meet at a hotel bar in San Francisco, Levine was forty minutes late. Robert was left glowering at his table, having already got through several beers and itching for another. When Levine finally turned up it was without so much as an apology and barely a nod in greeting.

“Robert Muldoon,” Levine said, frowning down at him. It wasn't a question.

Robert swallowed his irritation down and stood up, offering his hand for the bastard to shake. The handshake was weak, perfunctory. “Dr Levine?” he said. “Good to finally meet you.”

Levine frowned at the empty beer bottles on the table, and Robert quietly ground his teeth.

 _You're here to advise the man_ , he reminded himself. _That's all._

And he was being paid well for this. Might as well be paid to sit in a bar and drink, since it was probably what he'd be doing anyway. Next time he'd remember to bring a book.

He'd done some digging on Levine already, so he should have known what to expect. He'd called Dr Alan Grant. After the incident on Isla Nublar, Robert had got to know Alan and Ellie well. During the long months when they'd been stranded in Costa Rica, virtual prisoners in the lap of luxury, they'd had bugger all else to do except laze by the pool and get to know one another.

Even so Alan had been cautious on the phone, almost reluctant to speak, and Robert had the distinct impression that he'd already been contacted. He didn't press, and just asked what Alan knew about Levine. And that reluctant silence dragged on.

“He's an excellent palaeontologist,” Alan finally said. “But he's not well liked.”

“How come?”

“Well, he's too willing to point out other people's mistakes. Or what he thinks are mistakes. He had some choice words to say about my theory about tyrannosaurs being confused by driving rain and thunderstorms.”

“Yes, your 'theory',” Robert said dryly. “Can't think where you got that idea from.”

Alan grunted. “Basically he's a rich asshole with an ego the size of an apatosaur. And he's obsessed with the possibility of finding a Lost World, of being able to study living fossils in their natural habitat. Which is ridiculous, because Levine's no field researcher. He belongs in a museum cataloguing fossils. You'd never get him on a dig site.”

According to Alan, after the incident on Isla Nublar, Levine had been poking around. Despite the non-disclosure agreements, too many people had died or been injured for the park to go completely under the radar. Levine had dug. And he'd been determined to keep digging until he found something.

“What the hell are you doing working with Levine, Robert?” Alan asked. “What's going on?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Another long silence. Finally Alan sighed. “No. I don't.”

And after that, Robert could tell Alan wanted to hang up. They kept the rest of the conversation light, some general gossip about Ellie – now Ellie Sattler-Reiman – and then began to bring the conversation to an end. But before he could hang up, Alan said, “You'll be careful, right?”

“Always.”

Alan had been right, and not just about Levine being an arsehole. This precise man didn't belong in the field any more than Ludlow did.

They sat. Levine folded his lanky body into the chair, still studying Robert with a dubious expression. “You're familiar with dinosaurs?”

“I worked with them for three years,” he said, and was startled at the faint note of pride in his voice. Damn it, even after everything that happened, he was proud. Not many men who could say they'd worked with dinosaurs after all, and he'd been damn good at his job. If it hadn't been for the storm and that slob Dennis Nedry...

Levine grunted. “As a park warden.”

“Something like that.”

Levine clinked his fingers against the glass. “So it is true then? What Hammond told me?”

Robert shifted in his seat. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“That the aberrant carcasses that have been washing up along the shores of Costa Rica are not in fact remnants of a Lost World as I had hoped, but genetically engineered dinosaurs created by InGen for a...” and he paused, a pained expression flickering over his face, “...a _theme park_.”

“Oh. That.” Robert swigged his beer. “Yes, that's true.”

“Damn.” Levine sighed. “I have to confess I'm disappointed. I'd heard the rumour about InGen of course, but that's all I'd hoped it was. The concept seemed absurd.”

“Absurd? Compared to what, a Lost World?”

Levine waved a hand irritably. “There's evidence for it. Take Mokèlé-mbèmbé in the Congo, for example. The local people of the Likouala region report seeing an animal in the swamps of the area that resembles a sauropod. And in Irian Jaya–”

Robert folded his arms. “You've forgotten about Loch Ness,” he said, and Levine glared at him.

“I'm talking about isolated areas, Mr Muldoon. Places where animals from the Cretaceous or even the Jurassic eras could survive undisturbed for millions of years. Given an isolated enough region, it is possible, even likely, that dinosaurs could survive to the present day.”

“And you thought that could happen on an island off the coast of Costa Rica? Which no one happened to notice for the past couple of thousand years?”

Levine sighed. “No. Clearly the rumour about InGen has to be true, more's the pity.” His eyes narrowed. “And in that case... Was Dr Alan Grant there? Did he visit the island?”

Robert hesitated, brought the beer up to his lips. He might have allowed himself to get sucked in to this mess, but he was damned if he was going to bring anyone else into it. “I'm afraid I have no idea.”

“You're a terrible liar, Mr Muldoon. I expect it's all the alcohol you've drunk.” A dark expression of irritation flashed across Levine's face. “So Grant _was_ there. That bastard lied through his teeth to me.”

“You spoke to Alan Grant?”

Levine nodded. “About a year ago. I asked him if the Costa Rica rumours were true. He said they were utter nonsense. That he'd keep something like this secret. These animals–”

“Non-disclosure agreements would have been signed," Robert said. "And they were meant to have destroyed all the animals. And they did. All the animals on Isla Nublar of course.

Levine's expression darkened further. “You're certain of that?”

In his mind, a memory of fire. A vision of the island burning. “I saw it happen,” he said, shortly, and for a few long moments they sat in silence.

“We cannot allow that to happen again,” Levine said, finally. “Genetically engineered or not, these animals represent a priceless research opportunity. John Hammond is right; they must be protected and kept isolated.”

After that the conversation turned to the park. Levine grilled Robert about every aspect of it, often barking questions at him before he'd had the chance to finish answering the last. He gritted his teeth and replied as best he could, telling the man everything he could about the dinosaurs, how he'd come to work for Hammond in the first place – not something Levine had any interest in judging how quickly he cut him off. He also asked several very involved questions about the genetic engineering process, which Robert was unable to answer. This drew an irritated frown from Levine, and a scrawled note in his notebook.

On the dinosaurs themselves he fared better, until the conversation turned to the raptors, and he felt that cold shivery feeling creeping over his skin.

“They showed intelligence then?” Levine said. “Because the fossil record strongly suggests–”

“The raptors were – _are_ – highly intelligent. I've worked with a lot of animals, Dr Levine, but nothing like the raptors.”

“On a level with primates?”

Robert paused, folding his arms. “Smarter than primates,” he said, and felt uncomfortable at a brief fascinated gleam in Levine's eyes. “And they were vicious. They were too dangerous to keep in the main park."

“So they didn't interact with the other animals in the park?”

“Of course not.”

Levine frowned, made another note. “There was no interaction between the different species?”

“Only the ones we didn't think would harm one another. For the most part I was proved right, although we had some difficulty with the trikes and the pachys for a while. The trikes were much like rhinos; bad tempers, and a tendency to charge.” He paused. Levine was looking irritated again. “It was a zoo, not a nature reserve. It wasn't designed to be a natural ecosystem. And the animals were too valuable to risk losing them.” Pity Hammond hadn't felt the same way about people. He reached for his beer, swallowed back the last dregs, immediately wanted another. “He should have made an exception for the raptors.”

Levine nodded his head dismissively. Robert's irritation crept up another notch or two. He wasn't a betting man, never had been, but he would have bet everything he owned that when Hammond told Levine about him the word 'alarmist' had come up.

He suspected it would be a pretty safe bet.

 

###

 

On the plus side, Levine had money. Lots of it. Hammond had always had a parsimonious streak. His claim that he spared no expense only applied to the ersatz veneer of luxury, rather than mundane matters like building up the dock so boats would be safe there during storms, or providing weapons suitable for dealing with fast, vicious dinosaurs. Levine liked his gadgetry, the shinier and the deadlier the better.

He might not have been taking Robert's warnings seriously, but he wasn't a total idiot.

Part of it probably stemmed from the fact that he didn't belong in the field. He was a museum man through and through, precise and prickly and happiest when left alone. While someone like Grant might be uncomfortable with technology, preferring to make do with a lower tech method, Levine's response was to throw money at the situation. Lots and lots and lots of money.

Over the next couple of months, Robert spent much of his time poring over the map and satellite images of the island, studying the demarcated territories carefully until the topography of the island seemed imprinted on his mind. A kind of obsession rose up in him, and when he wasn't with Levine, bickering over their plans, he was sitting up late in his hotel room, studying the plans for the trailers and the other field equipment, checking the specs repeatedly.

He was reluctant to crawl into bed, because when he slept he dreamed. Woke screaming and clammy with sweat, hands scrabbling at his stomach, checking to see his guts weren't spilling out. His legs tangled in the bedding because he'd been thrashing so much in his sleep. He'd roll into a sitting position and rub his face, feel a dampness on his cheeks that might have been tears.

Usually he tried to go back to sleep. But gradually, more and more, he found himself reaching for another whisky.

 

###

 

Eddie Carr's workshop was filled with activity. Robert picked his way through the seats and furnishings of the trailer littered on the ground while men moved around inside, putting some finishing touches to the interior of the trailer. From the other trailer, he heard the scream of cutting metal, where the men working on the roof were fixing metal bars over the skylight.

He circled the trailer, frowning. Even knowing the specs, the massive forces this trailer would be able to withstand, it looked far too weak and flimsy. Compared to the concrete bunkers on Isla Nublar, this would feel like hiding from a wolf in a house of straw.

 _This is a bad idea_ , he thought.

At yet another tweak to the plans, one of the workers had complained about them being massively overbuilt already, and Robert could see what the kid had meant. The plans were still to stick to the outskirts of the island, well away from the territories of the raptors and the larger predators such as the t-rex. In theory none of the team should ever be in any real danger.

In theory.

There were two trailers, one providing living and sleeping quarters for the team, and the other a mobile laboratory designed to Levine's exacting specifications. The trailers were attached by an accordion passageway, and had been built of titanium, reinforced with honeycomb alloy, massively strong and light both. And the team would be equipped with the best weapons money could buy. Air rifles loaded with neurotoxins, designed to kill so fast the animals would be dead before they even realised they'd been struck with a dart.

The neurotoxin had been Robert's suggestion, and he still felt uncomfortable about it. They had tranquilliser darts as well, but knowing the dosage was still an inexact science. Better not to be stuck in the field with a t-rex changing at you, waiting for a tranquilliser dart to take effect, not even knowing if it ever would. He'd already experienced that; he'd be damned if he put someone else through it. He hated the thought of the neurotoxin darts, but at least they were quick. And decisive.

There were more prosaic weapons too. A couple of rifles with plenty of ammunition. Gas grenades with accompanying masks, designed to temporarily incapacitate anything that made the mistake of inhaling the smoke. Robert had made these suggestions, expecting Levine to refuse; instead he had accepted and signed off on every one.

He should have felt vindicated; instead it made him feel uncomfortable for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He sighed, and rested his hand against the dark cool metal.

_Am I sending those people out there to die?_

Eddie Carr yelled something from across the room, and Robert turned in time to see a silvery metal cage plunge down from the top of the scaffolding that covered the entire far wall and crash onto the concrete floor.

Eddie was standing underneath with his head tipped back and his hands cupped around his mouth, bellowing at the men above. Robert walked past a Ford Explorer and the swarm of men working on it, modifying it to run on an electric engine. He knelt to inspect the cage.

“What the hell's this?” he asked. “It looks like a shark cage.”

“Kind of exactly what it is,” Eddie said. “Except, y'know, not for sharks.”

Robert ran his hands over the metal bars. “Is it aluminium? Because–”

“Because raptors can bite through aluminum? Yeah, you said.”

Robert glanced up. “I did?”

“Several times. You expressed yourself quite strongly on that point.” Eddie swallowed, gave a nervous grimace. “There was a lot of emphatic finger pointing. Lots of description of teeth. And claws. But mainly teeth. It reminded me of my in-laws actually. My wife's sister. Gave me the shivers.”

Robert pressed his lips together, amused. He liked Eddie, who had a mournful jowly face, and a pessimistic streak that Robert appreciated. Finally it felt like somebody was actually paying attention.

Eddie nodded to the cage. “It's a titanium-alloy. Twice as strong as aluminum. Try to lift it.”

Robert reached out, and gripped the cage with both hands. It was much lighter than he'd been expecting, and he almost overbalanced. “Shit.”

Eddie chuckled. “It's part of the high hide,” he said, gesturing to a series of metal struts being constructed nearby. “Built to Dr Levine's specifications. He wanted to be able to view the animals without disturbing them. And it keeps him safely out of their reach.”

“How high does it go?” Robert asked, as Eddie clipped a hook around the cage and whistled. They both watched as it was winched upwards back up to the top of the scaffolding.

“About twenty feet. The raptors can't jump that high, right?”

“No, but they're excellent climbers,” Robert said. As Eddie swallowed, he wandered over to the struts and traced his hand over the silvery metal. “It's too shiny. It'll stand out a mile in the jungle.”

“We'll spay-paint it black.”

“What about the smell?”

Eddie shook his head. “No smell once it's dried, Rob.”

Suddenly there was a sharp explosive crack from across the room. The two men swung around, as acrid smoke rose up from the trailer.

“Jesus. You have to ground it! Ground it, you idiots! Unless you want to end up charcoal. Christ!” Eddie shook his head in disgust and glancing at Robert. “Ten thousand volts. Enough for a t-rex, you think?”

“It should be,” Robert admitted. “Levine is irritating but, at least he's willing to spend money on the best equipment.”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah? That makes you feel better? 'Cause it scares the shit out of me.”

Robert glanced at him, eyes sharp. “Not exactly comforting, Eddie. You don't think it'll be enough?”

“It's not that. Hell, it probably is overkill. That's not the point. Guys like Dr Levine, they think the best way to prepare for something like this is to throw technology at it. They want to pile it on like my kids decorate a damn Christmas tree. The more the better, but the truth is the more technology you have the more chances for something to go wrong.

“Now you're sounding like Ian Malcolm.”

“Who?”

“He... it doesn't matter.”

Eddie shrugged. “The trick is to build in redundancy. Take the car. Levine wants it running off photovoltaic panels, so we're not reliant on gas or electricity. Well, sure we can do that, but if the panels get damaged at all, then the cars won't run and we're basically screwed. At least an engine I can fix, right? Sometimes simpler is better. Sometimes redundancy is good. But Dr Levine doesn't want redundancy. He doesn't want simple technology. He wants the best of everything. The cutting edge. The shinier the better.”

“Isn't that a good thing?”

Eddie snorted. “In my experience, the shinier the technology, the more fucked you are when it screws up in the field. You know another word for 'cutting edge', Robert? Untested.”

It was a strange feeling not being the voice of doom for once. “You think it will screw up?”

“In my experience?” Eddie gave him a doleful look. “Pretty much inevitable.”

“Reassuring.”

“Which is why I've built in as much redundancy as I can. No one appreciates redundancy these days. But I'll feel a damn sight better once we've field-tested everything. You're coming on the field test, right?”

Robert sighed. “Yes.”

“Kind of giving me the willies,” Eddie admitted. “You not coming to the island itself. You really think it's going to be that dangerous?”

Robert hesitated, then nodded.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” They paused, watching the bustle in the workshop. A shower of sparks flew up from the welders. Eddie winced, and gave another weary shake of his head.

Robert nodded to the trailer. “Those bars they're putting in over the skylight...”

“Titanium alloy again,” Eddie said. “And even if they do–” he made a biting motion with his hand, “–that's ballistic glass.” And then he shivered, his lips turning down at the corners. He looked miserable.

“Eddie,” Robert said softly, “I strongly suggest that you don't go.”

Eddie sighed. “Well, someone's gotta be there to fix the mess when it all goes FUBAR, right? Not like I can ask any of these idiots to risk their lives. Anyway, dinosaurs, right? I think if I didn't go, I'd regret it for the rest of my life.”

“And if you do go, your life could be very short.”

“You know how much I'm being paid to go? If I turned down that cheque, my life would be even shorter. My wife would kill me.”

“Better than being eaten by a dinosaur.”

“You haven't met my wife,” Eddie said darkly, and Robert swallowed back a laugh. “I'll take my chances with the dinosaurs. But I appreciate the ominous words of warning. 'Cause that helps take a load off my mind.”

Across the room, another figure appeared, ducking underneath the roll-up metal door. A woman, looking tired and travel-weary, her red hair caught up in a messy pony-tail, a battered rucksack slung over her shoulder. He recognised her immediately, although it had been at least a decade since he'd last seen her, as a young post-grad newly arrived in Kenya, intelligent and watchful.

And now she stopped, studying the trailers, hands on hips. Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth, bellowed, “Sarah! Hey, Sarah!” across the room. For a little guy, he could manage a surprising level of volume. She glanced around and waved, made her way across the workshop towards them.

“What, you just got into the country?” Eddie demanded, hugging her. “Couldn't be bothered to shower?”

“Don't be a dick, Eddie. It doesn't suit you. And yeah, I just got in from Nairobi, and I am not in the damn mood. Richard's been even more of a pain in the ass lately, phoning me with constant questions, and then he calls me demanding I come back to the US immediately. Why now, Eddie? The field test isn't for another week. And I thought we agreed you didn't need me on the field test anyway. But Richard, in his infinite wisdom, thinks he knows better.”

“Hey, Sarah, look, you don't need to tell me what a pain in the ass Dr Levine is. Okay? I know.” Eddie gave a theatrical shudder. “Believe me, I know.” She pulled away, left Eddie flushed and grinning in her wake as she glanced at Robert, her eyes bright and curious. “This is Robert–”

“–Muldoon,” she said, smiling. “We've met before in Africa. I'm not sure if you remember–”

“Of course I remember,” he said, feeling a brief spark of pleasure that she remembered him.

They shook hands, and then she glanced around, frowning. “Where the hell is Richard anyway?”

“Who cares?” Eddie said. “What matters is he's not here. And I for one consider that a cause for celebration.”

 

###

 

For dinner. Eddie, Robert and Sarah went to an Italian restaurant. Lubricated by plenty of wine, they spent most of the meal bitching about Richard Levine and what an arsehole he was. Which turned out to be an endlessly enjoyable topic. And afterwards they walked to a bar, some dive Eddie knew, and Robert found himself sitting close to Sarah, swapping tales of Africa. She told him about her work, the pack of hyenas she was studying, and although she was tired from the journey, her eyes lit up with enthusiasm and not the slightest trace of fear. The way she talked about Africa, almost made him homesick. Odd, because Kenya hadn't been his home in a long time, but something about her shining eyes made him miss the savannah, the heat of the sun on the back of his neck.

Damn it, he envied her,

He wished he'd never met Hammond, never gone to Costa Rica.

“But that's the trouble about working with hyenas,” she was saying to Eddie. “No one wants to hear it. People think they're ugly and ungainly and that's all they care about.” She shrugged, scooping a handful of peanuts from the bowl in the middle of the table. “Never mind that they have a complex social structure–”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said, grinning. “And they're a matriarchy, right?”

She stabbed a finger at him. “Right. They're also astonishingly brave hunters and attentive parents, but everyone sees them as scavengers and cowards. Now, lions... Lions are assholes.”

“'Lions are assholes,'” Eddie repeated. “Are we talking Richard Levine levels of assholery here?”

“Mm.” Her lips twisted and she lifted the beer bottle to her lips. “Not sure I'd go that far. Doesn't seem fair on the lions.” She nudged Robert. “So how about you? What've you been doing with yourself since you left Africa?”

“You mean apart from running a dinosaur zoo?” Eddie said.

“Right. Apart from that.” Sarah stared down at the table with a frown.

 _She doesn't believe it,_ Robert thought, watching her. _Not yet._ Probably none of them did, not really; they'd all continue doubting until they saw the first slender neck of a brachiosaurus rising above the treeline.

“I've been working at a tiger sanctuary in Kerala,” he said.

“Sounds pretty different from a game reserve,” she commented. “Do you like working there?”

Robert reached for his beer. “The work's interesting,” he admitted, “But I don't think I'll be going back.” The alcohol had loosened his tongue. Across the bar, he heard the clack of pool balls.

Sarah leaned closer, her cheek resting on her hand. She was halfway to drunk herself, her hair escaping from her ponytail, strands of red gold hair falling down around her face. “Why not? Don't tell me you quit for Hammond?”

It wasn't something he could explain. How could he tell her about the sound of the rain, how it brought all the old fears back. Her green eyes lingered on his face, making him uncomfortable.

“Personal reasons,” he said gruffly. And the long moment of silence stretched out. They were both waiting for him to continue. “I had to go back to England. My father passed away.” Which wasn't the whole truth exactly, but it was all he was willing to tell them.

Sarah grimaced. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I shouldn't have pried.” Her eyes no longer rested on him and he felt strange pang of loss.

Eddie finally peeled off to call a cab home, leaving Robert and Sarah to walk back through the streets. They were both staying in the same hotel. Sarah carried her pack slung over her back. She'd smiled, quietly amused, when he'd offered to carry it, but she'd shaken her head. “I travel light,” she'd said.

The air was cool, the sky overcast, and he'd already felt the first few drops of rain. Both of them were a little drunk, and Sarah dropped back her head. “Is this real?” she asked. Her voice so soft that at first he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

He glanced at her, feeling a twinge of discomfort. The glint in her eyes was one of excitement, of the promise of discovery. He'd seen that light before, in Alan and Ellie's eyes, in Henry Wu's. In Levine's.

“I'm afraid so,” he said, looking away. He felt rather than saw her staring at him.

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Because it is a bad thing.”

And her eyes lingered on him. “What happened to you out there?” she murmured.

“Nothing good.” He hesitated, because she was still staring at him, and he knew she expected more. “It bothers me,” he said finally. “How the lot of you treat this like a research expedition. Those animals are dangerous.”

“I've worked around dangerous animals for most of my academic life,” she said.

Robert shook his head, frustrated. She wasn't getting it. None of them were listening. Even Eddie, with his pessimism and his assumption that everything would go wrong. For all John Hammond's reassurances, yet again, here he was being ignored. “Not like these.”

“Is it the raptors you're afraid of?”

He shivered. “Did Levine tell you about the raptors?”

“He said you had a thing about them.”

“The word 'alarmist' didn't come up by any chance?” he asked.

“Actually it might have done.”

Robert thought about this for a moment. “Bastard.”

She gave a soft laugh, and linked her arm through his, grinned at him. “I'm sure you're no alarmist, Robert,” she said. He tried to shake the impression that she was humouring him. “Are they really as intelligent as he says?”

“More, I expect.” He shivered again. The last thing he wanted to think about was raptors. It had been a pleasant night, the first pleasant evening he'd had in a while, and he'd spent it with people he genuinely liked. He was at just the right level of drunkenness, that pleasant hazy feeling he'd spent the last few years chasing. When he felt like this the world was a welcoming place. A safe place. It would be easy to push away his fears, ignore them until the morning. Easy to forget about the dinosaurs, about these people he might be sending to their deaths.

But Sarah was listening, So he told her, skirting the worst of it. Told her how he'd almost died. Told her about the time he and Ellie tried to distract them at the fence, how when the raptors realised they couldn't get her, they distracted her instead. Kept her busy until one of their number could get inside the fence.

She thought about this for a moment. “Do you think they can communicate?”

He thought about their barking vocalisation. “It's possible,” he said, but he spoke reluctantly, because her eyes were gleaming now.

“You said the alpha was female,” she said. “Is their society matriarchal?”

 _Oh dear God_ , he thought. _She wants to study the damn things_. Maybe he should have kept his damn mouth shut. “I don't know,” he said. “All the animals in the park were female.” That drew a wide eyed questioning glance from her. “They were designed that way. To stop them from breeding. Although now I wonder why they bothered." He sighed, wishing they'd never got onto the damn subject. But he couldn't figure out a way to change it. "I'm not sure you could describe them as having a society at all. They were vicious. Fought amongst themselves a lot. The big one, she killed all but two of the other raptors. I think she only let those two live because they were naturally submissive, but I think she could have ripped their throats out at any time.”

“But if they're as intelligent as you say–”

Robert stopped walking. “Sarah.” She turned to face him. A mist of rain lay on her pale skin. “We're not going out there to study raptors. If I had my way, I would have had the lot of them destroyed.”

She stared at him. “You don't mean that?”

“I'm afraid I do. They're dangerous. I've never known anything like them and I've been working around animals a lot longer than you.”

A dark flash of anger in her eyes. “You know,” she said, “you're not the first man to tell me I shouldn't be working around dangerous animals.” Her tone was stiffer now, colder.

He sighed. “You haven't seen them,” he said. “I have. You say you don't think I'm an alarmist?”

The anger in her eyes softened. “I don't.”

“Then...” He shrugged, and they moved on, walked in silence for a while.

“You said 'we',” she said.

“Hmm?” He didn't understand what she meant.

“You said 'we're not going out there.'” A faint smile played on her lips. “I thought you weren't coming.”

For a moment, he was lost for words. Then his jaw clenched. “I'm not. Slip of the tongue.”

“Admit it,” she teased. “You want to go. I bet you're dying to get out there.”

“'Dying' being the operative word,” he said, grimly. She chuckled and rolled her eyes. For a moment, he saw himself as she must see him. A broken, drunken man, filled with dark stories of horror, of ghosts and tall tales of the bush. Someone to be ignored, or at best humoured. A bloody joke. Pain squeezed at his heart, and Sarah studied him, her smile fading. Her expression turned serious, as if she regretted laughing.

Finally Sarah spoke. “You know, you haven't seen them either.”

He glanced down at her. “What do you mean?”

“The raptors. You haven't seen them either. If the ones in the park were all female, their society would have been skewed and incomplete. They never had the opportunity to breed, to form a true pack. No wonder they fought. So the ones on Isla Sorna could be very different, couldn't they? So how on earth could you possibly know what we can expect?”

He sighed. “I can't,” he said. “That's the problem.”

 

###

 

He woke with a hangover, the phone shrill in his ear. Darkness shrouded the hotel room, only a faint glimmer of light creeping in around the heavy curtains. And still the phone kept ringing. He groaned and rolled over, grabbed the handset and brought it to his ear. “Yes?”

“Robert, it's me.” Eddie's voice was strained and worried.

Robert sat up, massaging his forehead. “What's wrong?”

“It's Dr Levine,” Eddie said. “That stupid son of a bitch. He's gone.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 

Robert ducked underneath the metal-roll up door into Eddie's workshop, Sarah following behind. It was quiet now, with most of the workers gone, and the trailers looked finished. He glanced up at the office on the mezzanine level and saw Eddie hurrying down the stairs, his face strained. Behind him two kids, a boy and a girl, had their faces pressed up against the glass of his office window. “What's going on?” Robert demanded.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I've been trying to get in touch with Dr Levine for a while now, to let him know we're pretty much done. His maid picked up this morning, said she hasn't seen him in a few days, and none of the food she's cooked for him has been touched.” Eddie hesitated, looking miserable. “Rob, he took one of my packs a few days ago, satellite phone too. I thought he just wanted to check it over, try it out, but–”

“Damn it!” Robert turned away, jaw clenched in fury. “He wouldn't have... Even Levine wouldn't have been so stupid as to go out there on his own.” He looked at Sarah, found her expression equally grim.

“Ego,” she said. “He wants to be there first.”

Robert rubbed his forehead. The headache he'd woken up with had sharpened to a pounding throughout his skull. He'd taken some painkillers, but they barely seemed to be making a dent. “You said he's got a satellite phone?”

“Yeah.” Eddie held up a small handset of his own. “I've tried him a couple of times but no one picked up and I didn't want to drain the battery.”

“Try it again.”

Eddie nodded, dialled the number. And as the three of them waited, Sarah stared up at the office. “Who are the kids, Eddie?”

“Oh, uh...” He glanced up. “Grace and Mark, my sister's kids. She's been having some problems with her boyfriend, I said I'd look after them for a while, give them a chance to work things out.” The girl waved. Sarah waved back. Robert folded his arms, frowning.

The phone connected, ringing. No answer. “Could his handset be broken?” Robert asked.

Eddie shook his head. “It's connecting, so probably not.”

“What about tracing the call?” Sarah asked.

“What's the point?” Robert said. “We know where the bloody fool is.”

“Not for sure. He might have just gone out into the field,” Eddie said, his voice plaintive. Then he sighed. “Son of a bitch. The battery's gonna drain soon, guys. I'm gonna have to–”

There was a click. “Hello?” Levine's voice said.

Eddie sagged. “Oh, thank God.” He pushed the button on his handset. “Dr Levine, it's me. It's Eddie. Hey, we're worried about you–”

“Hello? This is Levine. Who's there?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of... Dr Levine, you have to press the 'T' button to transmit.”

“Hello? I can't hear you. Hello?”

“I thought he was supposed to be a genius,” Robert said.

Sarah snorted, and shot him a brief grin, then her expression darkened as Levine continued, “If you can hear me, please. I need help. I'm on Isla Sorna.” Robert growled softly under his breath, felt Sarah's hand on his arm, gently steadying. “Hammond was right. He was telling the truth, but–”

The phone crackled, a loud staticky hiss drowning out his words. “Damn it,” Eddie muttered, his eyes wide and worried. “His battery's going.”

“–The guide was....need help...like they're everywhere and...”

With a final burst of static, the phone went dead. The three of them stood staring at each other for a long few moments. Then Robert swung away. He paced the room, his headache momentarily forgotten. He should have known, he thought. Should have known he couldn't trust Levine.

_The bastard. The stupid stupid bastard._

He swung around, saw they were both watching him. He stared at them, no words coming to mind. All he could think was how angry he was, how furious at Levine, his rage so intense he could almost taste it, and beneath it the sick stink of fear. He felt cold sweat on his back between his shoulder blades. Levine was out there dying, and these two _idiots_ –

No, that wasn't fair, because neither of them were idiots. But Eddie was totally unprepared for this, and Sarah... Well, she might know animals but that almost made things worse; she was overconfident, thought she knew it all. He'd been the same way, and it had almost got him killed. It had been pure luck he'd survived.

“We go today,” he said. Sarah didn't react; she looked as if she was expecting this, but Eddie's eyes widened.

“We still need to field test everything, Rob. Remember what I said about cutting edge technology being untested?” There was a high nervous edge to the man's voice.

“There's no time for a field test.” He nodded to the phone. “You heard Levine. He's in trouble. Do we have our exit papers?”

“Yeah, we've had them for the last couple of weeks, but...” Eddie stared at the satellite phone in his hand as if thinking about Dr Levine, the terror in his voice. Robert wanted to say something, to tell him there was still time to back out, but his own breath seemed to catching in his throat. His heart rattled against his ribs. Just one drink, he thought, to steady his nerves. To lend him courage.

He drew in a shaky breath, curling his hands into fists. It took him a moment before he could trust his voice to stay steady. “Call them. Arrange the boat transfer to the island. I want them to be ready to leave in four hours.”

Eddie stared at him. “But–”

Robert moved towards him and placed his hands on Eddie's shoulders. “Listen to me, Eddie. You do not have to come.” He glanced at Sarah. “And that goes for you too.”

“I'm coming,” she said. There was the slightest bleariness of a hangover in her face, but her expression was intent. Robert met her gaze, and knew that no amount of arguing would be able to change her mind.

“This isn't a research mission any more,” he said. “You've got Dr Levine to thank for that. I mean it, Eddie.”

Eddie swallowed, gave a sickly smile. “I'm not letting you go out there alone with untested equipment, Robert. I'm going.” His smile faded, leaving a miserable downturn to his mouth.

“I'll call Nick,” Sarah said, turning away to the stairs. “Give him the four-minute warning.”

Robert nodded, and climbed up the steps into the trailer. The heavy door gave a sense of reassurance he was sure would turn out to be false. Inside, there was a compact living area and a small galley kitchen with built-in appliances – a microwave, and a gleaming coffee-machine, all glass and chrome. He moved through the accordion passageway into the second trailer, which Levine had kitted out as a mobile laboratory. He unlocked one of the storage units set into the wall, and pulled out a metal case. A pair of Lindstradt air rifles were nestled inside. He ran his hand over the dark, anodised metal, and pulled one of the rifles out of the case, testing its weight. It was heavier than he was expecting, with a solidity that offered a sense of comfort. Still his chest tightened. He snapped open the cartridge bank, saw a row of clear cartridges, each filled with pale yellow liquid and tipped with a needle. He closed the cartridge bank, heard a soft tread behind him. He didn't look around.

“Nick's on his way,” Sarah said.

He didn't answer, just gave a curt nod.

“So you are coming then,” she said.

A rush of heat ran over his skin. He turned slowly, rifle gripped in his hands, pointed safely at the floor. “Looks like it,” he said, his voice neutral. She was standing in the accordion passage to the other trailer, her arms folded. Her gaze rested on his face, studying his features with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

She nodded to the rifle. “What are you going to use that on? The dinosaurs or Richard Levine?”

He didn't smile. “Well, if I was Levine,” he said, “I'd be very worried right now.”

There was a few moments of silence. She continued to watch him. Robert's hands tightened on the gun, then he deliberately turned his back on her to replace the gun in the metal case. His fingers lingered on the cool metal before he snapped the case closed.

Sarah came up behind him. “You know we'll be okay, right?” she said, her voice soft. “Richard too. He's smarter than he acts sometimes. And he's tougher than he looks.”

He didn't answer. He slid the case back into the drawer, wondering if seeing the guns had helped. Wasn't like they'd done him much good on Isla Nublar.

Back outside, Eddie was waiting, his expression anxious and unhappy. He nodded at Robert, as if to say all done.

 _Oh God_ , Robert thought. _What the bloody hell am I doing?_

He wished suddenly he was home, that he'd never been so stupid as to pick up the phone and call Hammond. What the hell had he been thinking?

There was still time to back out. All he had to do was call a cab and head straight for the airport, catch the first flight back to England. It didn't even need to be England. Anywhere would do, just so long as it was away from here and Costa Rica.

“All done, Rob,” Eddie called out.

He nodded, and suddenly a wave of exhaustion washed over him. How long had it been since he'd got a decent night's sleep? Not last night; he'd had too much alcohol to sleep well. He hadn't dreamt; there'd been no jungle, no amber eyes, no teeth and claws, no sleek red tiger-striped backs moving through the shadows, but his sleep had been broken and fitful, and his reflection in the bathroom mirror in the morning had been hollow-eyed.

It was a nice idea, thinking he could still escape. But that was all it was. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he let these people go out there alone. He could barely live with himself now, after Jophery, after Ian Malcolm and Genarro and everyone else who had died, and he'd done everything he could to save them, and still he wondered if he could have done more.

“Okay.” He took a breath, waited until he could speak without a tremor in his voice. “If there's anything you need to bring, I suggest you get it. Last chance.” As they nodded, he glanced up to the window to Eddie's office, where his nephew and niece had their faces pressed up against the glass. “And for God's sake, make sure you search the trailers before we leave. The last thing we need is a couple of bloody stowaways.”

 

###

 

Nick van Owen turned out to be a tall stocky man in his mid-twenties, tougher looking than Robert had been expecting. He turned up in a white van, looking irritated and complaining, but his gaze was steady as Eddie introduced them. “Nick van Owen, Robert Muldoon. Nick's our photographer.”

“What's your background?” Robert asked. “Wildlife photography?”

Nick was busy unloading the van of photography equipment. “Wildlife, combat, you name it. When I was with Nightline I was in Rwanda, Chechnya, all over Bosnia. And I volunteer for Greenpeace once in a while.”

“Why Greenpeace?” Robert asked.

A moment's pause. Nick paused, and stared up at him, his gaze assessing, “Women mainly. It's about eighty percent female, Greenpeace.”

“Noble, isn't he?” Sarah said, laughing.

“Yeah, well, this time I'm actually getting paid,” Nick said. “God bless rich capitalists everywhere.” The items he was unloading had changed, no longer photography equipment, but a selection of tools, a crowbar, various kinds of bolt cutters. Robert's gaze lingered on them.

“You come prepared,” he said thoughtfully.

Nick paused again. There was a kind of stillness to him. Only his jaw moved, working around the lump of chewing gum in his mouth. “Always.”

 

###

 

Ahead of the boat the fog was thick, hanging over the sea like a blanket. From the distant booming of the waves crashing against cliffs, Robert could hear they were drawing closer to the island. He leaned on the side of the boat, staring down at the choppy water. His headache had eased off slightly, retreating to a dull throb at the back of his skull, but the low-grade nausea still lingered, and the lurching movements of the boat wasn't helping. His shoulder muscles were tense, and his hands itching for the weight of the Lindstradt. Well, that or a glass of whisky. Maybe both.

Behind him, Sarah was lecturing Nick and Eddie about safety around the animals on the island. “No scent of any kind. No hair tonic, no cologne, no insect repellent. And we seal all our food in plastic bags.” Nick looked bored, clearly not taking any of this seriously, but he wasn't a stupid man; he was still listening, taking it all in. Eddie just looked green with seasickness. He'd already thrown up twice.

Something loomed out of the the fog, something floating on the surface of the water. A large yellow buoy, the water capped with white around it. Robert frowned, staring at it, a chill feeling on his skin.

And then the captain yelled something to them in Spanish. And Robert saw the dark cliffs of Isla Sorna rising out of the fog ahead, ghostly at first, but solidifying as the boat drew closer, waves crashing up against the rocks in a surge of spray. He tasted salt, licked his lips with his parched tongue.

Sarah broke off her lecture to join him, her hands resting on the side to the boat. They all turned to look towards the bow, as the sheer cliffs of volcanic rock took on form on either side of them and the captain steered them through a narrow inlet cutting through the steep cliffs, leading to a lagoon in the interior of the island.

The captain came closer, his arm around the narrow shoulders of his young son. The boy looked frightened, but was scowling a little, as if he wanted to shake off his father's arm, but wasn't quite brave enough to do so. The captain said something emphatically in Spanish to Robert, and Nick frowned.

“He says he'll anchor a few miles off shore. He won't stay here,” he said. He said something to the captain who nodded, casting a nervous glance at the water. He said something else and Nick translated. “He says he's heard many stories about these islands.”

“What kind of stories?” Sarah asked as the captain continued to talk. For the first time she seemed uncomfortable, her arms folded across her chest.

“Stories about fishermen who come too close to the island, and never return,” Nick said, his voice tense.

Robert frowned. “They came onto the island itself?” he asked. Nick spoke in Spanish, and the captain shot him a strange look, and shook his head, muttered something.

“He says no one would be stupid enough to come to this island,” Nick translated. “It's not the island. They...” He hesitated, as he listened to a string of emphatic Spanish. The boy no longer looked angry, but pale and frightened, and he pressed against his father's side.

“ _Hay monstruos en el agua_ ,” the captain finished.

“He says there's something in the water.” And for the first time Nick looked unsettled.

The captain met Robert's gaze with a defiant glare as if he expected Robert to protest.

Instead he nodded. “Tell him I don't blame him. We'll unload and then he can get himself and his boy well away from here.” And the captain, who either understood English better than he pretended or understand Robert's tone, nodded,

As they unloaded everything onto the beach, the captain watched them as if they were madmen, then he was gone, hurrying to the cabin of the boat as quickly as he could. Eddie set to unpacking the stuff with Nick's help. Robert skirted the jungle with one of the rifles slung over his shoulder. He knelt to examine footprints in the sand at the edge of the beach, the bird-like three-toed tracks he recognised as having been made by compys. The lush thick undergrowth at the edge of the jungle sent a shuddering sensation up his back.

Sarah came up behind him. “'Something in the water,'” she said softly. “Do you know what he was talking about, Robert?”

His gaze focused on the undergrowth, searching for any sign of movement. _Nothing's there,_ he told himself. _Nothing's watching._ Slowly, he stood up. “I'm not sure,” he said. “It could be nothing. Ghost stories put about to scare people away. To stop looters. The Costa Rican government wanted to keep people away from these islands. Or...”

“Or?”

He turned towards her. “Or it could be a tyrannosaur.”

Her face paled. “Tyrannosaurs can _swim_?”

He didn't smile, not quite. “Like crocodiles. Giant massive bloody crocodiles.”

“Jesus,” Eddie said. He'd stopped to listen, his eyes wide.

“Or it could be something else entirely.” He frowned. “A Cearadactyl, perhaps.”

“A what?” Nick asked.

“'Cearadactylus',” Sarah said. “It's like a pterodactyl but much, much bigger.”

“You got those?”

Robert nodded. “And they were vicious. Highly territorial. Injured quite a few of the workers who were working on the aviary on Isla Nublar. Imagine thirty pounds of winged reptile bombing down towards you at full speed. One of those could take out the crew of a fishing boat.” He paused, gaze lingering on the water, on the thick drifting fog. “But they wouldn't damage the boat itself.”

“So maybe you were right the first time,” Eddie said, although he was scanning the sky nervously. “We had a hell of a time getting a permit for the islands. They didn't want people coming here, that's for damn sure. Maybe it's just a scare story.”

“It's possible.” Dear God, he hoped so.

 

###

 

When Eddie had finished setting up the trailers he climbed behind the wheel of the Explorer. Sarah slipped into the passenger seat and Robert leaned in beside her, studying the monitor as Eddie slipped a disk inside the slot and brought up an outline of the island. He waited impatiently, as the image was gradually built up with data from various different satellites, gradually filling in the outline of the road system that networked the island.

“Any sign of Levine?” Robert asked.

“Give it a minute,” Eddie said. A marker appeared on the map near the edge of the island. “That's us.” Nothing more happened, and Eddie waited for a couple of minutes, fingers drumming on the wheel.

“What about Richard?” Sarah asked softly.

Before Eddie could answer there was a trilling sound out in the jungle, and he looked around nervously. “Was that a bird?”

“No,” Robert said shortly. Eddie flashed him a nervous look. “Just compys, Eddie. Nothing to worry about. They're scavengers, mainly feed on carrion, dinosaur droppings and wounded animals.”

“About the size of chickens,” Sarah said.

“Right. Okay then.” Eddie swallowed. “Nothing to worry about. Glad I'm not a wounded animal.” He paused. “Did I mention I'm scared shitless of chickens?”

“What about Levine?” Robert asked. “His marker still hasn't come up.”

“No. Son of a bitch.” Eddie sighed. “Untested equipment. We might have to give it a minute. His location sensor could just have a weak signal, or it could be damaged or he's somewhere where he can't get a signal.”

“So what do we do now?” Sarah asked.

Robert pointed to the map, following the road with his finger. “We stick to the original plan. Take the ridge road north and find somewhere to set up camp. We fixed on a couple of spots overlooking the plain. Somewhere quiet, out of the way, off the beaten track. It's the safest place to be.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Eddie said. He climbed out of the Explorer. “I guess I'll take the trailer. Rob, you wanna do the honours with the Explorer?”

“Shouldn't we look for Dr Levine?” Nick asked, as Robert moved around to the other side of the Explorer. “He's the guy who's paying our wages, right?”

Robert glanced at him. “Let's worry about ourselves first, Nick.”

“You don't think we're safe here?”

“On this island? We're not safe anywhere.”

 

###

 

They took the road out from the beach, the tarmac pitted and potholed. The Explorer's engine was quiet, almost eerily silent with the loudest sound Sarah's breathing beside him. The thick jungle seemed to press in on all sides, and a thin layer of sweat formed on his skin. Reality had taken on on the same hazy quality as a dream; none of this seemed entirely real. Bird calls that he knew were not bird calls sounded out in the jungle, and once he saw a brief flash of green in the road ahead as something small and bright vanished into the jungle. There was a sharp intake of breath from Sarah, and he darted a glance at her. Her eyes were bright and wide, filled with excitement.

The trailers followed behind, easing along the steeply climbing road. Once the jungle hemming them in on the right hand side opened away to a sudden plunging drop that made his stomach do a slow lurching roll. Down below there was more jungle fringing stark jagged rocks, and Robert drove on, eyeing the trailers uneasily in the rear view mirror, hoping Eddie could handle the turns. And then the jungle closed in again and the air pressed tight around him.

At least it wasn't raining. There was that at least. And he had the rifle on the back seat. But still his throat seemed to close up as he wondered where the t-Rex was at that precise moment. Whether he'd take the next bend and see it in the road ahead waiting for him.

Which was madness, but even so his heart took on a rapid pace as he took the next bend and a sudden bleeping from the monitor made him start. “What the hell is that?”

Sarah leaned forwards, studying the monitor. “I think it's Levine,” she said. He darted a look, saw a small marker somewhere inland to the east of the island, where a few of the roads intersected by some squarish outlines that might have been buildings. He pictured the map of the island in his head. “That's the workers' village,” he said.

Eddie's voice came on the radio, “Hey, Rob, you seeing this?”

“Yeah, we've seen him.”

And then the road opened out onto a clearing, and the sun was beating down on the Explorer once more. Robert stopped the Explorer and killed the engine, keeping the monitor on, as Eddie drove out, vines brushing against the roof of the trailers. He eased them past the Explorer, and Robert frowned. On the monitor, Levine had vanished again. “Damn it,” he muttered. “He's–”

Sarah wasn't listening. Her breathing quickened, and suddenly she had flung the door open and was climbing out of the car. She jumped down onto the grass and moved around the front of the Explorer.

“Bloody hell. _Sarah_!”

He snatched the rifle from the back seat and scrambled out after her, heart hammering, but it took him a moment or two to realise there was no danger. She was moving to the edge of the ridge, staring out over the valley below with an expression of astonishment. A river wound through a grassy plain, and a herd of about fifteen hadrosaurs grazed in the thick grass, one lifting its head to watch for predators. Further across the valley, a family group of brachiosaurs lowered their long necks to drink at the river's edge.

“Robert,” she said, and then it was as if she couldn't think of anything to say so instead, she stared at him, her expression filled with such surprise that he almost laughed. For the first time the terror that clamped around his chest so hard he could barely breathe started to ease. “They're beautiful,” she said. “I didn't think they'd be so beautiful.”

Robert's lips twisted. He could have told her that.

But what he hadn't expected was to feel a trace of that wonder himself. He never would have thought it possible, and maybe he wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for her, for the way her eyes were shining and how the sunlight seemed to burnish her hair like copper.

He hadn't wanted to get caught up in the wonder of this place again, but he could still feel it coiling through him, even after everything that had happened. And when she gave a shaken laugh, and turned back to stare out at the valley, he thought that maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a few moments just to enjoy the sight. He leant back against the bonnet of the Explorer, watching her watch the dinosaurs in the valley below.

“We need to get Richard,” she murmured. “We should really...” And then she trailed off again as Nick and Eddie joined them.

Nick muttered, “Holy fucking shit,” under his breath.

Eddie gave a soft disbelieving snort, ran his hand over his hair. “They're really real,” he said. “I mean... Jesus, they're _real_.”

“You didn't think they would be?” Robert asked.

“I...” Eddie paused, chewing on the inside of his lip. “I mean it wasn't like I thought you or Hammond were lying, but... Actually, scratch that, I totally thought you were lying. But, son of a bitch, those are actual honest to God freaking dinosaurs down there. Son of a bitch. Son of a _bitch_.”

And they stood for a few moments entranced. Eventually, it was Robert who pushed himself away from the Explorer. He loaded the Explorer with a selection of weapons, including a box of spare cartridges for the Lindstradt rifle, and one of the Cholinesterase bombs, along with a pair of gas masks. And it still didn't feel like enough. He closed the boot and rested his hands on the sun-warmed metal until his breathing had calmed and his heart had slowed down enough that he could speak without his voice shaking. “Eddie, I'm going to find Levine.”

Sarah glanced at him sharply. “Not alone,” she said, with a note in her voice as if she expected him to argue.

Instead he nodded, glanced at Eddie. “Do you think you and Nick can handle setting up camp on your own?”

“Uh...” Eddie stared down at the valley, then shook himself. “Yeah. Right.” He turned back around. His wonder had drained away a little at the prospect of being left alone. “Yeah, we'll be fine.”

“Any problems,” Robert said, “you get in the trailers and you lock the door.”

“Jeez, you don't need to tell me twice.” Eddie glanced back at the dinosaurs and nudged Robert. “Hey, any of those carnivores?”

Robert shook his head. “Not that I can see,” he said. “But that's a game trail. They won't be far away.”

“You think we'll see a t-Rex?” Nick asked, his voice distant.

Robert sighed. “I have a horrible feeling that the answer to that is going to be 'yes'.”

 

###

 

Robert and Sarah left Eddie setting up the high hide, and Nick using a video camera to tape the herds in the valley below, muttering something about how awesome it would be to capture a kill on camera. It probably wouldn't be long before he got his wish.

As he drove back down the ridge road, the tension was building again. He was driving too fast, and made a deliberate effort to slow down, easing his foot off the accelerator. The magic of the valley was already slipping away, because he was doing what they swore they would not do, venturing away from the safety of the ridge and head inland.

When he found Levine he was going to throttle the son of a bitch.

As the road flattened out, he took the corner too fast, saw a fraction too late that the road ahead filled was filled with dinosaurs. “Shit!” He slammed on the brakes, and the Explorer juddered to an emergency stop.

There were gaps in the jungle on either side, and a string of stegosaurs were lumbering across the road, a mixture of adults and babies, swinging their heads to study the Explorer with disinterest.

Sarah laughed, her eyes bright and disbelieving. “Dinosaurs crossing,” she said, grinning at him. “They should put up a sign.”

He thumped his hand impatiently against the wheel, thinking it was like a herd of sheep loose in the road back in the village where he lived. Except this was several tons worth of sheep, taking their time and quite capable of smashing the Explorer to bits if they wanted to. The stegos weren't any real danger, but he hated being held up like this. God only knew what might be coming up behind them. The thought made the back of his neck itch in discomfort. “Come on, come on,” he muttered.

“Beep the horn at them,” she suggested.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why do I get the feeling you're not taking this seriously, Dr Harding?”

“I am, I swear,” she said. “It's just...” She gestured at the animals in the road, and the grin was back. “Those are dinosaurs, Robert. _Dinosaurs_. Look at them. Look at the way they've gathered around the baby to protect it.” She pressed her hand against her mouth. “Can I get closer? How dangerous are they?”

“Stegos are generally pretty docile,” he admitted. “But we don't know what else is out there. And we're supposed to be rescuing Dr Levine, remember?”

She stared out of the window with wonder in her eyes. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind,” she said, sounding faintly wistful.

“I'm positive he wouldn't,” he said.

“You think so?”

“Of course not.” And when she glanced at him, he added, “The bastard's probably dead.”

She snorted. And finally the last straggler crossed the road, the last sight of it its four-spiked tail swinging after it. “About bloody time,” Robert muttered, starting the car again. His tension eased a little when they were moving on again, following the road that wound towards the worker's village. Occasionally, through breaks in the jungle, they caught glimpses of other parts of the island, a field below filled with long grass, and elsewhere a vast sprawling building in the distance the size of several aircraft hangers, and then they were lost in the jungle again.

The workers' village had been a fenced compound, surrounded by a high electrified chain link fence, but the fencing had come down in sections and there was no longer power. At the gate, he stopped the car, and started to get out, but Sarah placed her hand on his arm.

“I'll open the gates,” she said.

“Sarah–”

“Would you stop with the chauvinistic bullshit, Robert? I can take care of myself.”

He gave a terse nod, and watched, his hands tight around the steering wheel as she crossed in front of the Explorer. He looked around, his gaze shifting from the jungle, to the low buildings inside the gate, searching for any sign of movement. He could feel the itching sensation of being watched, but he knew it was probably his imagination.

She shoved the gate open, and he drove through, waited while she pulled the gate shut again. They closed with a loud metallic clang that made him wince. Judging by how quickly she hurried back to the Explorer, she wasn't feeling entirely comfortable herself. She climbed back in, smelling faintly of fresh sweat, a smell which was, he thought, not entirely unpleasant.

The workers' village consisted of about thirty or so buildings, with once carefully maintained and landscaped gardens that were now overgrown tangles. They drove past a single-storey convenience store with a flat roof and petrol pumps standing like sentinels outside, and several tennis courts with vines entwined around the chain link fence.

Robert found the whole place eerily familiar. It had been built along the same lines and architectural designs as the staff village on Isla Nublar. He had lived in a small but spacious one-bedroomed house very much like one of these: built of pale stone, and with thick walls and arrow-slit windows which had always made him feel as if he was living in a modernised medieval castle.

Only now the buildings had all been abandoned, and the flowerbeds which had once been filled with abundant flowers had gone to seed. With the desolation, the lack of vehicles, and the constant humidity and heat, it was disconcerting.

Finding nothing, they circled back and parked outside the store. Robert tapped the monitor, frowning. “Levine's signal hasn't reappeared.”

“Guess we'll have to get out and look for him,” Sarah said. She scanned the streets, her eyes apprehensive. “You think there are dinosaurs here?”

“I'm sure of it,” he said, his voice low, serious.

Sarah glanced at him with a teasing smile, the corners of her eyes creased. “Alarmist.”

“Come on.” He reached for the rifle and climbed out. It took her a moment, but she followed. He pulled out the pack from the back of the Explorer, and they moved towards the shop, past the petrol pumps. The door opened inwards, but only part way – a table had been wedged against it to stop it opening completely. “Levine was here. He tried to barricade himself in.”

“Against what?” she murmured, but more to herself than to him, so he didn't answer.

He had an idea. He hoped he was wrong.

Inside the shop there was an air of decay, the contents of the refrigeration unit concealed behind a thick layer of mould on the glass, the newspapers in the rack yellowed and peeling. There were racks of everything a worker here might need, chocolate bars and sun-tan lotion and packs of painkillers. It was dark and dim in the store, with little light filtering through the narrow arrow-slit windows. And there was a smell in the air, a sour smell, almost but not quite like vomit, which caused a fist of unease to tighten around his gut. As Sarah examined a discarded chocolate bar wrapper, he moved towards the back room, to another heavy door which at some point Levine must have barricaded shut. A table scraped noisily against the concrete floor as he shoved the door inwards.

Here the smell was stronger, so strong his mouth flooded with saliva. _Not imagining it then_ , he thought grimly. He wiped his mouth, fighting nausea.

A sleeping bag lay coiled like a grub on the floor, alongside more chocolate bar wrappers, and an opened can of beans, and a utility jacket had been rolled up and bundled in the corner. Robert knelt down, and, keeping his breathing shallow, tugged the jacket open, saw a darkened dried patch on the khaki canvas, the source of the smell.

Sarah appeared in the doorway, and made a sound of disgust. “Oh God, what is that?”

“Dilo spit.” And suddenly it was so thick on the air he could taste it. He coughed, and bundled the jacket back up again. They moved back through into the main part of the shop, and Robert pulled the door shut, swallowing several times.

“Dilophosaurs,” she said. “They're the ones that spit venom, right? Uh, grow up to seven metres long, head frill, incapacitate their victims with a poisonous bite...”

“You've done your homework. Looks like Levine had a run-in with them.” He moved over the the window, and peered outside. “From the satellite imagery their territory is around this area.” When she didn't answer, he glanced at her, saw she's gone pale and her lips had tightened. “He survived, Sarah. At least long enough to come here and take off his jacket and raid the chocolate supply. The only question is why didn't he stay here where it's relatively safe? He has food, he has water, and he must have known this is one of the first places we'd look for him even if we hadn't been able to trace his signal.”

“You know the answer, right? He's a scientist.”

He pressed his lips together, glared out of the window. “He's an idiot.”

“He came here to study the animals, Robert. That's what he's doing.” She joined him by the window, squinting out. “He'll have found somewhere concealed, probably high up. Maybe the roof of a building or a tree? It's unlikely he'll have gone too far from the village. Not without transport.”

He thought for a moment. The village was small enough that it shouldn't take them too long to check the buildings for any sign of Levine. He suspected she's right; he'd be out in the open somewhere. “All right. Let's search the village.”

As he moved cautiously towards the door, she said, “If we split up–”

“We're not splitting up, Sarah.” When she started to protest, he added, “This isn't me being chauvinistic. I want someone to cover my back.” A flash of a memory rose up in his mind as he moved out into the blinding sunlight. A memory of Ellie leaving him in the jungle, her running footsteps vanishing into the distance. That feeling of being swallowed up by the jungle, by the sweltering heat. He didn't want to be alone. Not now. Not here. This place was unsettling; it reminded him too much of Isla Nublar.

He could feel her gaze on his back. Her boots scuffed against the ground as she followed him. It took her a few moments to answer. “You're probably right,” she said. “I guess someone's got to be there to stop you from killing Richard.”

He almost laughed.

As they started the search, he thought that at least it wasn't raptors. Dilos were dangerous, but they tended to spit first rather than attack outright, and they usually gave some warning. They preferred to weaken their prey first, although that wasn't much consolation if you got a faceful of venom. He'd come close once; it had been one of the most agonising experiences of his life.

As they moved along one of the side-streets, he heard the first soft hoot. He froze, pressed back against the side of the building. Sarah did the same, shooting him a questioning look.

“Is that them?” she whispered. “They sound like owls.”

He nodded, heard another answering hoot. It came from the alleyway that ran beside the house. She leaned closer, pressing against him. “I thought they were nocturnal.”

“Mostly they are,” he said. “But they make exceptions.” Cautiously, he leaned around the edge of the building. At the end of the alley, he could see the gate that led to a swimming pool, and beyond a flash of movement. A dilophosaur, bending to drink from the pool. It hooted, and the hoot was echoed by another animal. “What the hell are they doing?”

Sarah touched his arm. “If Richard's going to be anywhere...” she murmured.

“Yes. Shit. Okay, come on.” They moved back around the side of the house and inside. It had an air of emptiness, of somewhere abandoned. They went upstairs and into the back bedroom, where French doors opened out onto a rooftop terrace surrounded by a waist-height stone wall. Sarah slid the doors open open a few inches, and Robert winced at the noise it made. More of the strange repetitive hoots drifted in. Keeping down, they crept across the terrace and looked out over the top of the wall.

Six dilos, ranging in size from juveniles to fully grown adults far larger than any of the dilophosaurs at Isla Nublar, stood by the swimming pool, in groups of two. As he watched, one of the dilos in each pair bent to take a drink from the murky-looking water and hooted, and a moment later the other in the pair did the same thing, the same bobbing movement, the same soft hoot.

Sarah drew in a sharp breath. “Robert, that's a _mating_ ritual.” Her voice was little more than a breath, and that shining look in her eyes was back. “Have you seen anything like that before?”

As he shook his head, a flash from one of the houses opposite drew his eye. Sunlight catching on glass. Gently, he nudged Sarah, and nodded to one of the terraces opposite. “You were right,” he murmured. “Look.”

A moment after he spoke, Richard Levine poked his head over the stone wall on the balcony opposite them, a video camera gripped in his hand. He had been half-concealed behind a couple of plant pots balanced on the wall, but his movement had caused the light to reflect on the lens of the video camera. He was shifting position, trying to get a better shot of the dilophosaurs in the square below. “He's leaning out too far,” Robert muttered, glaring at him. “Man's got a death wish.”

And as he spoke, Levine looked up and saw them. He visibly started, and almost dropped the camera. Robert flinched as he fumbled with it, managed to catch it, an expression of relief spreading across his face. And then there was a moment of horror as his elbow caught against the plant pot balanced on the wall. It teetered on the edge for a moment, then plummeted, shattering on the paving stones by one of the dilos.

It swung around, snarling, turned towards the remains of the terracotta plant pot. Sniffed at it. On the terrace Richard Levine froze in terror.

_Get back. Get out of sight, you stupid fucker._

Robert brought up the rifle, squinting down the scope, but another of the larger dilos moved around behind the first, blocking his shot. And the first dilo looked up and saw Levine frozen above.

“ _Shit_.”

Its flanks tensed. A jerk of its head and something slapped against Richard's face. He screamed, a howl of sudden desperate agony, clawing at his eyes. His hips struck the wall, and he toppled over, plunging into the midst of the dilophosaurs.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 

There was chaos in the courtyard below. Only the first dilo seemed aware of Levine falling into their midst. The others milled around, confused by the disruption to their mating ritual. Beside him, Sarah fumbled in the pack for the Cholinesterase bomb.

No sign of Levine, but Robert could see the dilo that had spat at him about to strike at something on the ground. He squinted down the sight of the Lindstradt, felt only the briefest flash of regret as he squeezed the trigger. The sound of the air gun was unexpectedly quiet, unnervingly so, as the air rifle's built-in silencer kicked in. The dart struck the dilo in the flank.

It jerked its head up, mouth gaping on instinct, and then an instant later it dropped. Its spasming death throes threw the other dilos into panicked chaos. One of the smaller ones – a runt-like male with a tattered frill – sank its teeth into the flesh of the downed dilo, tore out a chunk of flesh. Robert saw a flash of Levine's prone body through the churning mass of bodies. Any minute now any one of them would see Levine and the bastard would be past saving, if it wasn't already too late.

By now Sarah had the bomb in her hands. "How does this work?" she asked.

"Just like a grenade. You pull out the metal pin, and throw it." Below there was a sudden groan. Levine, at least, was still alive. The groan changed, turning into a high shrill scream.

 _Oh, you idiot. Be quiet, you fool._ He took aim again, but he didn't have enough cartridges to kill them all, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. "Sarah, you're going to have to hurry," he said through gritted teeth.

She nodded, tugged the metal pin free and flung the bomb across the courtyard and into the midst of the dilos. "What about Levine?" she asked, as if this had just occurred to her. "Will it hurt him?"

"God, I hope so," he muttered, counting inwardly. When he felt her gaze on him, he shook his head impatiently. "It's temporary. The effects will wear off quickly."

As he spoke one of the dilos spotted Levine on the ground. Robert jerked the rifle towards it, but too late; Levine gave a high, shrill scream of agony as the dilo lunged, and the others swarmed, sensing prey. And still the bomb hadn't gone off. _It's not going to work_ , he thought. _It's not going to fucking–_

The bomb burst, sending out a stream of acrid smoke so thick that for a moment it hid everything from view. A few panicked threat displays from the dilos, and then one by one they succumbed to the smoke, bodies crumpling on the ground. One of them tumbled into the pool, sending a minor tidal wave rippling along the length of the water to slap against the tiles at the far end.

He grabbed the gas mask from the pack, and hooked it on over his head, not pulling it down yet. He straightened up, his knees cracking – _dear God, I'm too old for this_ – and he leaned over the balcony wall, studying the drop.

That clearly wasn't going to work, not at his age. He'd fall badly, break a leg, and then both he and Levine, possibly Sarah too, would be dead. "Damn," he muttered, casting a glance at the unconscious dinosaurs. Hopefully Levine hadn't been crushed. "Come on."

"When you say the effects are 'temporary'?" Sarah murmured as they hurried back inside and down the stairs. "How long do we have exactly?"

He hesitated. "It depends on the wind."

"So basically you have no idea."

They entered the kitchen and moved to the back door, which thankfully was as sturdy as the front. He pulled the gas mark down, then unsnapped the lock, and pulled the door open.

His heart picked up pace, his blood screaming in his ears as he edged out onto the porch, all the time thinking what a stupid, stupid fucker he was. For letting Ludlow faze him, for listening to Hammond... For allowing himself to get sucked into the whole bloody mess all over again.

His gaze swept the courtyard, then shifted to the dilos. Five minutes at most, he knew, before the effects wore off. It seemed like they were already starting to twitch, flanks rising and falling with every breath.

 _Hurry up, you bloody coward._ This internal voice sounded unnervingly like his father, and it spurred him on. Quicker now, he stepped off the porch and moved along the side of the pool, trying not to flinch at the size of the animals. The dilos at Jurassic Park had been tiny compared to these, the largest of which was perhaps five metres long, nose to tail.

He glanced back at Sarah, who had stepped out through the doorway and was shouldering her rifle. He waved impatiently at her to get back inside and she glared at him, shook her head. Damn, she was stubborn, but he was startled to find how glad he was of her presence. It helped to know she was there, covering him as he drew closer to the dilos.

The reptile stink of them turned his stomach. They lay motionless, jaws agape, black tongues dangling out between sharp teeth, dried spit crusted around their jaws. The ribs were sharply delineated beneath their colourful skin. Food on the island was clearly in short supply. As he stepped carefully over a tail one of them gave a snort.

Levine was lying so still that at first Robert thought he was too late. Then Levine took a rattling wheezing breath. His face was smeared with dilo spit, the skin red and inflamed. And there was an ugly bite on his upper arm. One of the dinosaur's hindlimbs was flung across him, pinning him down.

Another snuffling grunt from the dilos. Damn, they were waking up already. He should have moved quicker. He knelt beside Levine, glanced over the wound in his arm, then tried to tug him out from under the dinosaur, but he couldn't shift him.

"Robert?" Sarah called. "Do you need help?"

 _Christ, yes_.

"No!" But his voice was muffled by the gas mask and he wasn't sure she'd heard.

She was still edging forwards, already at the edge of the patio. He waved her back again, irritable in his rising terror. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, stared at Levine's waxy face. He could hear the dinosaurs' breathing patterns changing; the smoke in the air had all but dissipated. They would wake up any moment, were already starting to stir. In desperation, he planted his boot against the dilo's leg, and leaned against another animal's flank for leverage. He strained, felt the warm body against his back rise and fall as the dilo took a breath. But the hind leg shifted as he kicked, and he scrambled up, bent to drape Levine over his shoulder.

As he straightened one of the dilos – the _biggest_ dilo: the one whose leg he'd been kicking – gave a coughing growl and lifted its head. It stared straight at him. He backed away, heard the scratch of claws on tiles, and turned to see another of the dinosaurs getting up. It snarled, took a few shuddering steps sideways, still unsteady on its feet.

Sarah raised the gun, taking aim, and Christ, he wished he'd left her with the Lindstradt. She fired, and the dilo wheeled around, weaving as if it were drunk. Its frill flared, its flanks contracting. "Cover your eyes!" he bellowed, his voice muffled. She jerked her head to the side as the dilo spit slapped wetly against the wall beside her.

All the dilophosaurs were waking up now. He was surrounded by the scratching sound of claws of tiles, the thump of heavy bodies struggling to get up. All around him snarls and hulking bodies and the feeling of hot breath on the back of his neck.

_Go. Go, you stupid fucker._

He lurched forwards, weighed down by Levine's body over his shoulder. The dilo between him and the porch drew back for another shot at Sarah, and she was raising the gun, taking aim again. Damn her, she should have put the other gas mask on. At least her eyes would be protected.

She fired just as the dilo spat again, and this time its saliva slapped against her chest. The bullet struck the dilo in its flank, and it screeched in fury, staggering backwards a few steps. Then it froze, wary now. The dilos always had been cowards at heart. He ran past it, knowing at any moment that something would slam into his back and knock him to the ground. That he would feel jaws closing around his neck.

As he glanced back, another lot of dilo spit slapped against the glass visor of the gas mask, effectively blinding him. He stumbled, heard the dilo snarl with triumph. His exposed skin stung. Sarah called his name, and he followed the sound blindly, felt his boot thump against the raised step of the patio, and then Sarah was there beside him.

"Take Levine," he ordered, but she was already doing exactly that. He heard her breathing, fast and rapid, heard her draw in a sharp, frightened breath. He sensed movement behind him, heard claws against tiles.

Shit, maybe it wouldn't be the fucking raptors that got him after all.

Freed of Levine's weight, he reached up to jerk the gas mask up so he could see, but before he could a reptile stink enveloped him, and Sarah screamed his name. As he lurched towards her, his foot entangled in the leg of a wrought iron chair, and he tripped, the edge of the table slamming into his ribs so hard it knocked the breath from his lungs. Probably ripped his fucking spleen wide open. He fell hard against the tiles between the table and the chair, gripped the gas mask and wrenched it up. And almost immediately wished he hadn't, because the dilos were closing in.

One reared back to strike. He drew back his leg and kicked it hard in the muzzle. It recoiled, snarling with fury, and he fumbled with the Lindstradt, swore when it caught on the legs of the table.

Another shot from Sarah's rifle, the retort so loud his ears rang, and the dinosaurs retreated a few steps. But only for a second. As one made a darting gesture towards him, he flipped the patio chair that had tripped him and kicked it towards the dilo. It snarled, snapping at the legs, its teeth scratching on the rusting iron.

And then hands grabbed him, dragging him backwards. "Let go of me," he snapped. "Get inside."

She ignored him. Dumped him on the cold tiles next to Levine. As she turned back to the door, one of the dilos charged, ducking its head to fit into the patio. Another snapped at its flanks, and the dilo hissed. It tried to turn but its frill caught on the door frame. Enraged, it inhaled, ready to spit, and then Sarah fired. The dilo drew back out of the doorway, and she flung herself against the door, almost – but not quite – slamming it shut. The dilo's limb caught in the jamb, claws scrabbling against the wood. It screeched, colliding with the door so hard Sarah was almost flung backwards. Robert shoved himself to his feet and threw himself against the door. He jerked his hunting knife from his belt, hacked at the claws until the dilo recoiled and the door finally clicked into place.

He snapped the lock shut and they both leaned against it, gasping. Jerked back when the dilo crashed into it from outside.

"Will it hold?" Sarah asked nervously.

"Christ, I hope so." Another crash. The wood juddered, but it held. "It should." And the dilos were pulling back now. Breathing hard, he wiped sweat from his face, and stared at the door. His heart was beating a tattoo in his chest, so rapid he felt faint. His skin itched and burning from the venom. He could feel her watching him.

"I'll close the door upstairs," she said softly. Her voice seemed to come from a distance. He couldn't bring himself to speak, only nodded.

 _Come on, Robert,_ he thought. _You're tougher than this._

Only he wasn't sure that he was. Not any more.

As she turned to go, he managed to speak. "Be careful," he said, his voice hoarse. He heard her footsteps falter, but she said nothing more, and after a moment she carried on. He heard her footsteps moving up the stairs.

 _Christ,_ he thought, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. _Christ._ They hadn't been on the island for more than a couple of hours and already he'd almost died. And he'd almost got Sarah killed too.

 _Not your fault,_ he reminded himself. _It was Levine._

Damn it, he had to pull himself together. He drew in a breath and moved to the window, peering out. He could still see the dilos out in the courtyard, but fewer of them now. One couple had returned to the mating ritual, but they seemed distracted. Another was prowling around the courtyard, frustrated by the loss of its prey. He drew back from the window as its bulk moved past the archway to the porch.

 _Oh God,_ he thought, _Sarah._ But he couldn't bring himself to move. Couldn't do anything other than stare at that moving bulk, his heart starting to pick up pace again. Then he heard her returning down the stairs and he closed his eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Still think they're beautiful?"

"Actually, yes," she said, wryly, and then, more seriously, "Are you okay, Robert?"

 _Pull yourself together_ , Robert told himself. He shuddered, a full body shudder, and drew in a long slow breath. _You're alive, aren't you?_ "I'm fine. Just... getting warmed up."

She snorted, shaking her head. "Well, if it makes you feel any better I think that was one of the bravest things I've ever seen."

"The dilos are nothing," he said, and was relieved to hear no trace of a shake in his voice. She moved to join him at the window. "They're cowards, really. It's–"

She nudged him. "You'd better not be about to mention the raptors."

He shut his mouth and she chuckled.

"Yeah," she said. "I thought so. So what now? We hole up here until they've gone?"

"I wish we could. Unfortunately I don't think that's going to be an option."

"Because of Levine?" She glanced back. "He hasn't woken up yet. Is that because he was bitten?"

"We need to treat him with the anti-venom. If we're in luck..." He moved into the kitchen, rooted through the cupboards until he found a first aid kit. He offered up a prayer to whoever might be listening and then unsnapped the catch. He rifled through the contents, his hopes already sinking. Nothing but plasters, bandages, the usual clutter and detritus and all of it more or less useless. Not that he'd really thought he was going to find a vial of anti-venom here, but still..."Damn."

"Maybe upstairs?" she suggested.

He shook his head. "There'll be some in the shop," he said. Although the truth was he wasn't certain at all. Back on Isla Nublar he had made sure that vials of anti-venom were available throughout the island, but if it hadn't been for him, the management might not have bothered. And in the end, it hadn't proved necessary – they'd had bigger problems: literally in the case of the t-Rex. Maybe here they hadn't taken that precaution.

He couldn't think like that.

Sarah glanced out the window and then moved across to Levine. He was breathing shallowly, the breath rasping audibly in his chest. She felt his forehead. "How long does he have?"

"Not long," he said, although he was guessing. Usually one bite meant a person would be unconscious within minutes, but he had no clue how long it would take for the venom to result in death. Luckily it had never come to that.

"Okay," she said, frowning. "How's your leg?"

He tested it, grimaced as a sharp pain shot up through his thigh. "Sprained, I think. It'll be fine."

"If I run to the store, get the car–"

"Sarah..."

She glared at him. "It's the only option and you know it. You can't move fast enough, not carrying Levine. I'm quick and I'll take the Lindstradt. It isn't far to the store, and I think most of them are round the back anyway."

She was right. Damn her, she was right. He gritted his teeth, gave a single jerk of his head. "I'll go upstairs," he said, doing his best to conceal the shame and fury he felt for letting her go out alone. "Cover you as far as I can from the window."

"I'd appreciate that." She gave a brief flash of a smile, which was gone in seconds, replaced by a glint of fear in her eyes.

They swapped guns. As she hooked the strap of the Lindstradt over her head, he took hold of her arm. "You should know, Sarah, there may not be any anti-venom in the store at all. And even if there is it might have degraded completely by now. He could die anyway." _And you could be risking your life for nothing._

Her eyes closed. Only for an moment, and then they opened again. The fear was gone; there was nothing but shining determination now. "Well, I always did like to live dangerously," she said.

* * *

 

She hadn't been kidding about being fast. Less than five minutes passed before she returned with the Explorer and Robert rushed back downstairs, grabbed Levine and hauled him to the front of the house. Sarah reversed the car, bringing it as close to the building as she could. Robert dumped Levine in the back of the Explorer, and threw himself inside too. Sarah was already peeling away before he'd managed to slam the door closed behind him. And then they were safe – he saw a flash of a dilo on one of the side-streets, but it wasn't chasing them. The dinosaurs were mostly nocturnal, and the light was already starting to darken. They probably only had a couple of hours of daylight left. He wasn't looking forward to it, but they had no choice but to barricade themselves in the shop and wait until daylight. He didn't like the thought of leaving Eddie and Nick alone overnight, and the thought of being besieged filled him with dread, but at least they'd have food and shelter.

At the shop, Sarah reversed the Explorer as close to the door as she could. Robert carried Levine out, not liking how rough and uneven the man's breathing had become. She opened the door for him, and followed him inside the shop, wedging the door closed behind them.

Robert laid Levine down in the back room, gagging a little at the stale stench of dilo saliva from Levine's jacket. He moved to the first aid kit fastened to the wall, and opened it, gave a soft exclamation when he found the vial of antivenom. At least whoever ran this island hadn't been a total incompetent after all.

"Did you find it?" Sarah asked, her voice tinged with relief.

"Yes, thank God." Although he had still no clue if it would actually work. He also grabbed a bottle of eye wash, and turned towards her. "Sarah, could you do a sweep? Make sure all the doors and windows are secure. We're not going to be able to move him before dark. Do it as quick as you can, and then get back here. I need your help with Levine."

As she moved to obey, he knelt beside Levine and unwrapped the vial of anti-venom. Using a syringe from the first aid kit, he pierced the vial and drew back the plunger, drawing the clear, viscous liquid inside the syringe. He depressed the plunger to expel the first few drops, and then injected Levine, praying it would work. If it didn't...

Well, the stupid sod only had himself to blame.

Aware of Sarah moving around, her movements quick and cautious, he began cleaning the wound. If Levine's eyes were left for much longer, there was a chance he could go blind, but the bite was the priority at the moment, and he set about cleaning the wound. Sarah returned quickly, and knelt beside him. She had stripped off her shirt to a tank-top underneath, but the stink of the dilophosaurs still clung to her. Without looking up from the wound he was dressing, he handed her the bottle of eye wash. "Rinse out his eyes."

She nodded, and began. The skin around his eyes was inflamed and reddened, his eyes bloodshot. Robert finished dressing the wound, and began to clean away the worst of the spit from Levine's face, his hands moving carefully around hers. Levine's breathing, he noted, seemed to have evened out a bit, and as she flushed Levine's eyes with another gush of the sterile eye wash, he stirred and grunted, raising one hand in a weakened attempt to knock her away.

"That's a good sign," she said.

"Mm," he agreed. "I may get to throttle him to death after all."

She rewarded him with a faint smile, and then flushed Levine's eyes with another flood of the wash. He turned his head away, blinking. "Wha..."

"Richard? You're awake?"

"I... I can't see." Levine's voice was faint, his eyes blinking rapidly. "Sarah?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Robert's here too." She spoke softly, but in her voice was the faintest hint of strain. Her gaze flicked to Robert, then back to Levine. "Can you see anything at all?"

"Shapes. Shadows." Levine lifted his hand to rub his eyes and Robert caught hold of his wrist.

"I wouldn't," he warned. "It could make things worse."

"Am I going to go blind?" Levine asked plaintively.

"Probably not. If you can see shadows and lights that's a good sign." Or so he assumed, at least. None of the workers at the park had sustained any permanent damage to their eyesight.

Levine coughed. “I can't feel my left arm. And my head is pounding...”  
  
“You were bitten by a dilo. Their bites have a numbing effect,” Robert told him. “It should–”

Levine jolted. "By a dilophosaur? But... but you need to find an anti-venom vial. You need to–"

Robert caught hold of his shoulder. "All done," he said, and felt Levine slump back down with relief. "Of course, it's been sitting around the island for years. It might not work."

Sarah thumped his arm lightly. Robert gave her as innocent a look as he could manage. "Your bedside manner could use some work," she murmured.

"It wouldn't have bitten me at all if you hadn't startled me," Levine snapped. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

And with that every meagre scrap of Robert's sympathy for the man drained away. He clenched his jaw and stood up, stormed into the front of the shop. He dug the radio out of the pack and contacted Eddie.

"Damn it's good to hear from you, Robert." The relief was audible in Eddie's voice. "Did you find Levine in one piece?"

"More or less. But he's been bitten and we're going to need to stay here overnight to make sure he's okay. I don't fancy moving about the island while it's dark in any case. Will you two be okay there?"

"Uh..." Eddie hesitated. Robert could picture how his face had probably blanched. "Uh, yeah, we'll be fine."

"You don't sound certain." And nor was he, if he was honest with himself. He hated the thought of letting the group be separated, but it wasn't like they had much choice.

"No, no." Eddie swallowed. "We'll be okay. Right, Nick?" A faint murmur of assent which Robert couldn't make out. "We got the camp all set up, so, y'know, we're good. You and Sarah okay? You're in the workers' village, right?"

"That's right. We've got shelter, we've got food and something to drink. And we're safe. More or less." He could hear Levine's voice – a peevish whine – picking up strength. There was a noise and he glanced around to see Sarah in the doorway, prickling with barely suppressed anger. Robert swallowed the urge to smile. "Remember," he said to Eddie, "at the first sign of animal activity–"

"Inside the trailer. Lock the doors, grab a gun and keep away from the windows. Got it. We know the drill."

"Good man."

"Look after yourself, Rob. And Sarah too."

And Eddie was gone. As Levine called weakly from the other room, Sarah spread her hands in a gesture of frustrated fury. "That _asshole,"_ she said. "He's spent half the time complaining about how much his eyes hurt and the rest of the time bitching at me for startling him and making him fall off the roof. We should have left him there." She sighed, pushed a hand through her hair, then nodded to the radio. "Eddie and Nick okay?"

"Eddie sounds a bit worried."

"Then they're okay. Worried is Eddie's natural state."

"Yeah. Still..."

She crossed her arms, shivering. He glanced at her, saw goosebumps on her arms, then started to take his own jacket off. She shook her head when he handed it to her. "I'm fine," she said.

"And I'm too hot," he said. It wasn't entirely a lie; the air inside the shop was too close, too airless. "You'd be doing me a favour, Sarah."

"Yeah, right," she said. But she hesitated, then accepted the jacket with a brief smile of thanks. She shrugged it on and pulled it close. It made her look slighter somehow, more fragile. "So what the hell do we do now?"

"There's not much we can do now," he said. "Eat something, take it in turns to keep watch and wait for daylight." He moved to the shelves, rifling through the selection of tinned and packaged food. At least they wouldn't starve. If the worst came to the worst, they could hole up here and wait until Hammond sent a rescue team out to find them.

Assuming, he thought, a shiver of unease running down his spine, that Hammond was capable of doing such a thing. The last time he had spoken to the man, it was clear he had deteriorated even further since they'd met in New York. God, if their fate lay in the hands of Peter Ludlow...

That was a terrifying thought. He shoved it away.

They gathered up a selection of tins, a couple of cans of drink from the long dead refrigerator unit, and an armful of chocolate bars, and rejoined Levine in the back room. "Where have you two been?" he asked. The earlier peevish tone remained, but it was now edged with fear, as if it had occurred to him that they might actually leave him. His eyes were watery and swollen, but his gaze shifted to follow them.

"Your vision's coming back then," Robert said, swallowing down his irritation with the man.

"Yes, thank God." Levine opened his mouth to say something more, then clearly thought better of it. Instead he glanced around, frowning. "Where's my video camera?"

 _For the love of..._ "Probably lying smashed in the courtyard. Where you dropped it."

"We'll have to go back and get it," Levine said, scowling. "There's hours of footage on the video card, which we can't afford to lose. And I wouldn't have dropped it if it hadn't been for you."

"You'd be dead if it wasn't for me," Robert retorted.

"I would have been perfectly fine if you hadn't startled me. I don't know why you had to come blundering in in the first place. If–"

"For Christ's sake," Sarah snapped. "Just shut up, the pair of you."

They shut up. Levine pressed his lips together, and Robert glowered at the pile of food he'd dumped on the floor. For want of anything better to do, he started using a tin opener to open the tins of food.

"That's better," she said, into the silence. "Richard, stop being a dick."

"What, but–"

"What the _hell_ were you thinking coming out here on your own?" she demanded. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"I was perfectly fine," Levine muttered.

"We heard you on the sat phone," she said. "You didn't sound fine."

"The sat phone you didn't know how to use," Robert muttered under his breath, setting down a tin of ravioli in front of Levine. She frowned at him.

"Ridiculous thing," Levine said. "It never worked properly. I'm going to have it out with Eddie when I see him. If he'd done his damn job properly–"

"What happened to the guide?" Robert asked, and Levine flinched.

"What guide?"

"You mentioned a guide. On the satellite phone you couldn't use. Or did you come out here entirely on your own?"

There was a flash of an expression on Levine's face that might have been guilt.

"Yeah," Robert said, picking up another tin of food. "That's what I thought."

"Look–"

"I assume he's dead. What happened?"

"Um..." Levine had gone very pale. He stared down at his hands resting in his lap. "I don't know," he said, after a long silence. "I didn't see what it was. It was too fast. It grabbed him and dragged him away into the undergrowth."

"I see." Robert gave another twist of the tin opener. "And did you try to go after him? Did you try to help him?"

Levine's silence told him the answer.

Sarah sighed. "Guys, this isn't getting us anywhere. Can we just eat and worry about this in the morning?" She took a tin of beans and stared mournfully at it for a few moments. "What's the expiration date on these damn things anyway?"

"They're fine to eat," Robert said.

She spooned some into her mouth and grimaced. "Yeah, that's debatable. Ugh." She set the tin of beans back down and pushed herself up. "I'm going to see if I can track down some chilli sauce."

"Be careful," Robert said on instinct. She rolled her eyes as she left.

Levine had picked up the tin of ravioli and was staring at it mournfully. "There wasn't anything I could have done," he said numbly.

Robert lifted his head, stared at him.

"The guide," Levine said, a pleading tone to his voice. "I didn't see much, but I saw... I saw how much blood there was and I heard him screaming. I couldn't... There wasn't anything I could have done. I tried, Mr Muldoon. It wasn't... It wasn't like I _ran_. I tried to help."

"Okay." He sighed. It was starting to rain; he could hear the first pattering of raindrops against the windows, against the roof. Just what he fucking needed.

"Mr Muldoon–"

"Enough, Dr Levine." After the exhaustion of the day, the sound of the rain had put him on edge. "Sarah's right. Let's just... let's just eat."

"Right." Levine spooned a few mouthfuls of ravioli from the tin, grimacing at every bite. "This is disgusting," he said, after a few swallows. "What have you got?"

Robert glanced at his own tin. "Minestrone soup."

"Hmm. Want to swap?"

"Nope."

Levine took another few bites of his ravioli. "Are you sure this is okay? It tastes weird."

 _Well, maybe you'll die of botulism then. That'll certainly brighten up my day._ He didn't say anything, just grunted. Sarah returned, a bottle of chilli sauce held aloft like a trophy. "Jackpot. Thank God. It's starting to get dark out there."

"See anything moving?" Robert asked.

She shook her head. "I took the chance to recheck the door though. Nothing's getting in tonight." She sighed. "I wonder how Eddie and Nick are getting on. I hope they're okay."

"They'll be fine," Levine said. "How's the equipment doing? The trailer? Any problems so far?"

Robert scowled into cold minestrone soup, only half-listening to the conversation, to Sarah telling Levine about the trailers, how worried Eddie was about not having had the chance to field test everything. Most of his attention was focused on the rain. Levine said something dismissive, shaking his head.

And all the time the rain drummed against the flat roof. There was a leak somewhere, which might explain the lingering smell of damp and mildew underneath the stink of dilo saliva. The air was close and humid, wrapping around him. On autopilot, Robert ate another spoonful of soup. Closed his eyes and he was back on Isla Nublar, listening to the rain. A flash of lightning through the blinds, and a few seconds later a slow lazy-sounding rumble of thunder. He shuddered, felt Sarah's hand on his arm. The camping lantern cast its harsh yellowish light on their faces. And suddenly he couldn't eat any more. He put the soup down and opened a can of drink. It had long gone flat, and was sickly sweet, but it helped to wash down the flavour of the cold congealed soup. He swilled it around his mouth, wishing he had a glass of whisky instead.

"I've found out how the dinosaurs got around the lysine contingency," Levine said suddenly. "The herbivores primarily eat crops which are rich with lysine. Agama beans, soy... And of course the carnivores eat the herbivores, and get their lysine that way."

"So the lysine contingency really _was_ a waste of time," Robert said, gloomily. "Should've bloody known. I'll tell Wu next time I see him."

"What animals have you seen? Carnivores, I mean," Sarah asked Levine. "Just the dilophosaurs, or..."

"So far, yes. Apart from..." Levine glanced guiltily at Robert. "Apart from whatever it was that took Miguel and I barely caught a glimpse of that. I was going to venture out to see if I could track down the t-Rex nest, but–"

"Oh dear _God_ ," Robert muttered, and Sarah jabbed him with her elbow. He pressed his lips together.

"It's not nearly as dangerous as it sounds," Levine said, although the plaintive tone in his voice was back. "There's a ridge which runs behind the nest. If we stick to that–"

"No."

"But, Mr Muldoon—"

" _No_."

"Robert's right, Richard," Sarah said, shooting a warning glance in Robert's direction. "It's a bad idea. We should stick to the original plan, stay on the bluff overlooking the plain. Get as much footage as we can that way. And what you've managed to gather on your own, of course."

"It's all on the video camera," Levine muttered. Apart from two spots of red burning in his cheeks, his face was still pallid.

"We'll go back to the courtyard and get it in the morning," Sarah said, and when Robert opened his mouth she shot him a look of warning. "We'll be careful, Rob, but we do need that camera. The footage of the mating ritual alone... It's _priceless_. Even if the camera's broken beyond repair we should be able to salvage the memory card."

"You really do like to live dangerously," Robert muttered, and she grinned, the light from the lantern reflected in her eyes.

"Told you."

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Robert had a bad night's sleep. He woke to his own cry of terror, lay for a moment, panting and sweating, until he saw Sarah's pale face staring at him in the darkness. Thankfully she didn't say anything and he closed his eyes in shame. At least Levine hadn't woken up.

He hadn't thought he'd fall asleep again but he managed to snatch another couple of hours until the numbing effects of the dilo bite wore off, and Levine began to moan in pain. They had medical supplies at the trailer, but here all he could do was hand Levine a couple of painkillers which were years out of date and hope that they made a dent in the pain. The rest of the night he spent chasing fitfully after sleep, finally waking again to the cold dawn light filtering through the blinds and to a throbbing tenderness in his chest. Levine had managed to fall back to sleep and Sarah was gone. Robert stretched, and gingerly pulled his shirt up. An ugly bruise, reddish tinged strip ran across his lower ribs where he'd slammed into the table. It was tender to the touch, and it wasn't the only part of him that ached. Even his shoulders were complaining about a night spent on a hard concrete floor.

 _Too damn old_.

Wincing, Robert pushed himself up, limped into the main part of the shop, and pulled a can of drink from the fridge. He opened it and took a gulp, swilling his claggy mouth out with the ultra sweet flat orange flavoured drink. He ran his tongue around his furry teeth, and drew a hand down over his face.

Then he froze.

The barricade had been pulled away from the door. He felt a flash of fear so intense it rooted him to the spot, and then he willed himself to move. He grabbed the rifle, noting that Sarah had already taken the Lindstradt, and cautiously, he pushed the door open. The early morning chill cooled the sweat on his arms. The Explorer was still there, and there was no sign of life on the shining wet streets. And then a scuffing sound above him made him start.

"I'm up here," Sarah's voice said.

He glanced up, saw her sitting on the flat roof of the shop, leaning over the edge. "What the bloody hell–"

"The smell in there was getting to me. If I stayed any longer I was going to puke. Sorry if I scared you." She gestured. "There's a ladder around here if you want to join me."

He glanced back at the street, then closed the door, and moved around to the side where a ladder was leaning against the wall. He scaled it, eyeing the sodden flat roof. She was sitting on the edge, clearly not trusting the main part of the roof with her weight. He sat beside her and she offered him a chocolate bar. He peeled open the wrapper. The flavour of cheap chocolate flooded his mouth and left him with a sickly feeling in his stomach.

"How's Richard?" Sarah asked.

"Well, he didn't die in his sleep."

"Did you seriously think he was going to?"

"It was always a possibility," he said. "He was lucky the bite wasn't deeper. He'll need antibiotics, but he'll live."

She nodded. "I thought about waking you, but I thought I'd better let you sleep, considering..." She trailed off, shrugging awkwardly.

He thought about the dreams from last night, and the panicked choking terror flooded back. Not a raptor this time. Although every now and then he dreamed about finding Dennis Nedry's body he'd never dreamt about the dilos before. He shivered.

"Do you always dream like that?" Sarah asked softly.

"Not always. Only every now and then." _Mostly every other night these days._

She hesitated, crinkling the empty chocolate bar wrapper in her hands. "I'm sorry."

He glanced at her. She wasn't looking at him, staring out over the street towards the jungle. She looked tired, and pale, and there was a sad look about her eyes. "What the hell for?" he asked.

"I think I'm starting to get it," she said. "Why you didn't want to come out here. And why you were so pissy when you didn't think we were taking the whole business seriously."

"Oh God." He couldn't help laughing. It was a grim sound, without much humour in it. About all he could manage these days. "The funny thing is, I was never scared of the dilos. I'm still not that scared of them, not really. It's the only reason why I haven't dragged you back inside."

"The raptors?"

He nodded. "The Rex too, but mainly the raptors."

"How many people did they kill?"

He thought. "I'm not sure exactly. Nineteen people died, not including two deaths before the incident that shut down the park. At least eight of those to the raptors, most of them around the compound. The t-Rex killed at least four others, compys killed one of the workers–"

"Compys? I thought they were only the size of chickens."

"Well, they are, but their bites are mildly poisonous. If you're already hurt and there's enough of them they can take down a man. Of the rest, I know one man was killed by the dilos. Nedry. The whole damn business was his bloody fault, but even he didn't deserve to die like that."

"Jesus." She'd paled.

"You thought I was just scaremongering, didn't you?"

"No, but..." She hesitated, and he knew that was exactly what she had thought. "What about Richard's guide. You think it was a raptor that killed him?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't seem likely."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, Levine's still alive."

She shivered, tugging his jacket closer around her, then noticed him glancing at her. "Sorry, did you want your jacket back?"

He shook his head. "Keep it. I'm fine." He could already feel the temperature rising as the sky lightened.

"Are you going to let Richard go after the t-Rex?"

He snorted. "Depends on how much he irritates me."

"You know, I knew there was a sense of humour lurking somewhere under that dour exterior," she said, laughing.

Robert raised his eyebrow. "Dour? Bloody cheek." And then he smiled, even though he was still half exhausted, his body aching and sore. From their vantage point they could see over the low pale stone buildings to the jungle beyond, and above the sky was the colour of pale rose gold, streaked with silvery clouds. They were silent for a long time, watching the sun rise. Finally Robert spoke. "You're serious about getting that video camera?"

She nodded. "We came here to do a job."

"Sarah, we almost died."

She pressed her lips together in determination. "You know, a while back my car broke down while I was out in the bush, miles from anywhere. I was on my own, didn't have any way of contacting anyone. I had to walk back alone, throwing rocks at the lions to keep them away. And you know what assholes they are." The ghost of a grin, but her eyes were serious. "Doing what we do, death is always a possibility. I knew that when I came here, and it doesn't change anything."

"You're just saying that because you're young and you think you'll live forever." He rolled his sore shoulders, wishing idly that he was twenty years younger. If nothing else, at least then he might not ache so bloody much.

She darted a sharp glance at him. "I'm not _that_ young, you know." She folded up the chocolate bar wrappers and tucked them all neatly into a small clear plastic bag she kept in one of the utility pockets of her cargo pants. “You should definitely go back though,” she said. “Take Levine back to the mainland, assuming he agrees to go. We'll be fine.”

 _No,_ he thought, _you won't_. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are the lifeblood that runs in an author's veins. Well, comments and coffee. Constructive criticism is especially appreciated.


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